


From The Ashes

by Gemma_Inkyboots, raisedbymoogles



Series: Renewed [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gen, Injury, M/M, Manipulation, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-existing relationships, Rebuilding, Reunion, Sunset House, Younglings, enough fluff to choke a cityformer, everybody loves jazz's goodies, gratuitous art supplies, hot rod has two daddies, memory recovery, radiant is totally rarity, starscream the evil grand vizier, watch that first step it's a doozy, younglings everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemma_Inkyboots/pseuds/Gemma_Inkyboots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is a long-awaited <s>party</s> reunion, which doesn't go entirely to plan; Starscream is a meddling asshole, Rodimus is confused and Iacon is invaded by Vosian younglings. The Prime could probably do with a hug, but that'll have to wait until he sorts all this slag out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Third and final (ahahaha, look at me, I'm so foolish) entry in the Renewed trilogy, cowritten with Gemma Inkyboots. <3 (EDIT: Successfully dragged her onto AO3! Yay! :DDDD) 
> 
> Takes place immediately after the epilogue of 'Those Who Wander,' and contains MANY FEELS. Have tissues handy.

_”Nightlight, I presume?”_

*

The Prime stood with his hands braced on the communications console, optics off and engine thrumming with tension. The screen over his helm was blank, showing a slowly blinking query for a command: a command Rodimus was at a loss to give. He vented slowly, and straightened as his second approached.

“Are you all right?” Ultra Magnus asked quietly.

“Nervous,” Rodimus admitted. “It’s not every day you meet your long-lost carrier.”

Magnus frowned, and Rodimus remembered that Magnus hadn’t been party to the visitation, sixteen years ago, where he’d met the ghost of his sparker and been told of his carrier. “Are you sure of this, Rodimus? What does the Matrix tell you?”

Rodimus groaned, pulling away from him and the console both. “The Matrix doesn’t have anything to do with this. Primus, do you think it controls my past as well as my future?”

He realized he’d snapped when Magnus withdrew, averting his gaze. “I only thought it might have some wisdom to impart.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Rodimus sighed, turning away from the console and Magnus both. “...sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Magnus laid a hand on his arm, warm and steadying. “I only worry. These are Vosian expatriates - we don’t know how involved they were at the beginning of the war.”

“Not all Vosians are Decepticons,” Rodimus pointed out.

“No, of course not. But Vos’s stance of flier superiority and aggressive isolationism contributed to the war’s beginnings.” Rodimus gave him a skeptical look and Magnus sighed. “Not all Vosians were Decepticons, but there’s a reason so few of them became Autobots. I just want you to be careful.”

“You think Nightlight will have a problem with my being an Autobot?”

Rodimus tensed slightly under Magnus’s hand; of course that was exactly what he was worried about. Magnus squeezed his shoulder gently. “If he is anything less than proud of you, Rodimus, he is very foolish, regardless of his politics. Remember you have a whole city of people who couldn’t be prouder of their Prime.”

“Slaggin’ straight,” Blaster added, and Rodimus jumped. He hadn’t _forgotten_ the comms mech was there, exactly, but-

“Yes, thank you, Blaster,” Magnus said flatly, and that finally eased some of the tension; Rodimus laughed, and Blaster grinned up at him sidelong where Magnus couldn’t see, flickering one optic in a wink.

“I’ll let Kup know there’s another colony ship comin’ in,” he said cheerily, clever hands already moving over the console. “We’ve got a coupla days before they hit orbit. C’mon, Roddy, there’s a party on out there! Go enjoy some of it for once, huh? Bring me some goodies later.”

“Sure thing, Blaster.” Rodimus managed a smile, a brave if rather crooked thing, and headed for the door; Danny had slipped out when they’d seen Nightlight on the screen, stalling Magnus at the door when Rodimus’ second arrived, and Rodimus cast about the hallway expecting to see him just outside.

The door closed on Magnus muttering something to Blaster, _extremist_ and _isolationism_ reaching Rodimus’ audials before it sealed - Rodimus huffed his vents, trying to expel some of his nerves along with his exasperation as he looked around for Danny, then groaned aloud.

“Aww, really? Don’t tell me, you’re going in for ‘constructive loitering’ on the one night we’re supposed to be partying.”

The translucent shade against the wall snorted his opinion of _that_. “Please,” Starscream drawled. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Rodimus thought about that. “...okay,” he said, and sauntered down the staircase, enjoying the sound of the explosion of sputters behind him. 

“You’re making a mistake! You don’t know what I know about that ‘Winglord’. I can help you!”

Rodimus paused, letting Starscream catch up with him. He hadn’t forgotten what the former Air Commander was capable of, nor his talent for twisting the truth, but Starscream had been on his best behavior - more or less - since the incident with Celesti. “So?” he asked. “You knew Nightlight back when?”

“You might say that.” Starscream floated before the Prime, making sure he had Rodimus’s full attention. “And I’m warning you now, he’s got more faces than a Quintesson. Don’t turn your back on him if you want to keep your spoiler.”

“Don’t tell me you’re agreeing with Ultra Magnus,” Rodimus grinned.

“Oh, hardly. Magnus’s objections are just the usual grounder prejudice. I know Nightlight’s treachery _personally._ ”

The irony of Starscream calling _anyone_ treacherous was not lost on Rodimus, but he held his peace and waited for Starscream to explain. “The truth is, Nightlight was a scion of the old Winglord eirie - I’m sure that’s why he thinks he’s got the right to call himself Winglord now. And that,” Starscream declared, “unfortunately, means that he and I are brothers.”

“Huh.” Rodimus descended another couple of steps… and the credit dropped. “Holy slag. You’re my _uncle?”_

“Don’t look so shocked.” Starscream waved away Rodimus’ stunned expression with only a hint of a smirk to show his amusement. “I didn’t only have natural skill on my side when I became Air Commander, you know; I was sparked for leadership. Living in the Winglord’s eirie meant the best education in Vos, training, experience-”

“You’re my _uncle_ ,” Rodimus blurted again, looking faintly ill. “Did you- the whole time, you _knew?_ ”

“Of course not,” Starscream huffed. “For one, uncles are a human concept. For another, the last time I saw you, you were less than knee-high - and anyway, Nightlight kept you away from the rest of the eirie. He didn’t want you interacting with the rest of us; I’m sure _I_ don’t know why. He never was one to play nicely with the rest of us, even when things were getting...difficult for Vos.”

Rodimus took another wobbly step, then made the wise and Primely decision to not try his luck too far and sat down hard on the stairs. “Difficult,” he muttered, then raised his head to give Starscream a narrow-opticked look. “Difficult for who, exactly? For you?”

“Of course for me! Don’t tell me Magnus has you believing that we withdrew from negotiations with Iacon for no reason.” Starscream drifted around him, sparkles of light hypnotising in the dim stairwell, until he settled on leaning against the wall below Rodimus’ chosen stair so they were more-or-less on the same optic level. “I suppose no-one ever bothered to tell you the story of just how Skyfire joined the Autobots.”

“The Decepticons dug him up on Earth, you shot him and he signed on with us,” Rodimus replied promptly; Starscream scowled.

“Not that part! And that isn’t how it happened! ...I was a rising star in the eirie, being groomed to take over from the Winglord when my time came. Not that Nightlight approved of the choice, but then he was already pulling back from the rest of us and assembling his own court of hangers-on - but that’s beside the point. I went off to the Iaconian Science Academy, _allegedly_ the best centre of scientific achievement on Cybertron, as a diplomatic gesture, and quickly made a name for myself-”

“I just bet,” Rodimus muttered, but he was already leaning forwards, reluctantly drawn into the story.

“Skyfire was my assigned partner, since even then the anti-flier prejudice in the Academies was gaining ground-”

“No pun intended.”

“ _-Are you listening or not._ ”

Rodimus waved a hand, his grin still lingering, and Starscream huffed before he deigned to continue.

“We were finally assigned a long-term scientific mission, having gained the required qualifications and more besides that the explorer-class teams needed, and I took Skyfire back to Vos before we left - I was going to be Winglord, so of course I wanted to show him just what that would entail, as well as what my eventual bondmate- or trine, ahem - could expect from my city. Naturally he was impressed, and shown every courtesy - Vos rose to welcome him, showered him in praise and hung on his every word, I could hardly persuade him to leave - and then...well. Earth ruined all of that.”

He paused, almost expecting another sarcastic comment, but a sidelong glance at the young Prime showed a look of - not quite sympathy, not quite pity, and Starscream decided he could work with it.

“Of course, Megatron and his meddling put paid to Skyfire hearing anything promising about the Decepticons. How was he to know? He hadn’t had to live through the riots, the political chicanery, Iacon’s attempts to strongarm every city-state in line with their static, _stagnant_ ways - the Science Academy hauled me up before the Senate when I returned without Skyfire, did you know that? Because I couldn’t find him after the storm that must have buried him - because I was a _Vosian_ , a modded _Seeker_ , of course it was my innate brutality that led to my murdering him and leaving him behind. I was thrown out of the Academy, my records expunged and all the awards and discoveries I had made passed on to other, more _deserving_ grounder scientists.” 

Starscream gave Rodimus a mirthless smile, stifling any noise of protest the younger mech might have made. “Just look, if you can. Try to find any record of my work in any of the files you’ve managed to dig up - see if you can find any remnants of that _sham_ of a trial. Apparently they simply didn’t have the resources to send anyone else out after us - no resources to try and save a shuttle from the wrong city. I wonder - what might have happened if, say, Perceptor had been lost on an expedition. Would they have gone after him, do you think?”

It was in Rodimus’s throat to protest, but he was painfully aware of how young he was and how little he knew. _Iacon wasn’t faultless. Not even Magnus tries to pretend otherwise._ “I’m sorry,” he murmured instead. “For what it’s worth.”

“...it’s too little, too late, to be honest. But the apology of a Prime is more than I thought I’d ever get.” Starscream sighed, tilted his helm back against the wall. “Anyway, Nightlight was clannish even back then. I don’t think he said two words to Skyfire the whole time he was there.”

“Maybe he was shy?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Starscream snorted. “So shy he abandoned his eirie and surrounded himself with seditious elements. I’m half convinced he would have made a play to overthrow the spire if Iacon hadn’t beaten him to it.”

Rodimus glared, bristling with protectiveness for a mech he’d never actually met. “Come on, that’s a little too far.”

Starscream’s optics were narrow daggers of suspicion. “Is it? I can’t prove it, of course, but why do you think he wanted a sparkling with no named parent but him?”

Rodimus opened his mouth, closed it again and grimaced; Starscream answered with a fleeting smirk. “Well, I’m still going to have to hear him out,” Rodimus grumbled, glancing away.

Starscream waved him on. “Of course. Go on, Prime, but you’ll understand if I stay out of sight.”

“...sure.” Rodimus gave Starscream one last look, dubious and worried at once, and went down the stairs and out to the streets of central Iacon. A tingling cloak of cold dogged his steps all the way.

*

It was Rodimus’ duty as Prime and ongoing hero of the hour to close the Trek ceremonies, even though the party was going to last the rest of the off-cycle and likely most of the next duty shift. This had the fortunate bonus of making sure he was too busy to do more than snatch a moment here and there to worry as the Vosian colony ship approached Cybertron and Kup oversaw the works preparing for them. Rodimus had ordered that the Cybertronian-scale ambassadorial quarters be opened up and made ready - for all that the Witwickys had had plenty of input into the building of the smaller-scale suites, Cybertron had yet to host any diplomats who were their own size, and Rodimus couldn’t help worrying about whether the facilities were up to scratch. It all meant that over the next couple of days as the Trek of the Awoken ran down and life returned to more or less normal, Rodimus only had time for the occasional bout of brooding.

“Roddy,” Arcee murmured, nudging him gently. “Roddy, the ship’s coming in. We should get going.”

“Right,” he replied, not really listening in his distraction - then the words filtered through and he startled like a skittish newbuild. “Oh! Right. Sure, be right there.”

The colony ship that eventually sank down through Cybertron’s atmosphere was barely half the size of the _Ark_ , a sleek, pearly-grey shuttlecraft whose red and blue markings of rank had almost worn away over time. The docks for such ships were still thin on the ground in Iacon, but given that there were no other docking facilities on the planet that were safe to use, Kup had swung into action as the Trek of the Awoken wound down to get the larger docking cradles surveyed and cleared in plenty of time - just in case. Rodimus, Arcee and Springer arrived in time to watch the ship nuzzle up against the dock, immense engines thrumming with power and under the pilot’s tight control.

“Someone’s good,” Springer muttered with grudging approval, and Arcee muffled a laugh.

“Better than some rockaroid pilots I could name,” she replied, and pretended not to see when Springer gave her an affronted glare. Rodimus barely noticed; he was too busy staring at the ship, at the clearly Vosian glyphs scored into its hull.

“ _Wandering Star,_ huh,” he murmured to himself. 

From his shoulder, Danny peered at him curiously. “You can read that? It doesn’t look like Standard.”

“It’s Standard, just a different style, so it looks a little weird to us,” Rodimus told him. “I’ll teach you if you want. Later,” he added as the ship finished its docking procedures and its hatch yawned open.

A Seeker appeared - no, not a Seeker, Rodimus’s expectations were playing tricks on him. The _Vosian,_ no warbuild armor or weapons mounts, descended the plank and turned to call up to those still inside. As they spoke, another two Vosians appeared, peering cautiously out from the ship. One of them must have caught sight of Rodimus and his companions; they pointed, and the first one turned around again.

Rodimus’s vents caught and held as their gazes met and his spark jumped. “Carrier?” he whispered.

Arcee slipped her hand in his, gave it a gentle squeeze; Daniel patted the side of his face. “Thanks,” he murmured to both of them. “I’m okay.”

“Remember what Magnus said,” Springer told him. “You got this, Rod.”

“I know.” _What Magnus said? I almost forgot that next to what Starscream said._ “I can keep it together. Let’s do this.”

They approached. The first three Vosians were the only ones to disembark, but more of them appeared in the entryway, including smaller models that jockeyed for position behind their taller colonymates. _Younglings?_ Rodimus wondered as he stepped onto the tarmac with the Winglord and his fellows. “Nightlight?” he called.

The Winglord’s deep blue optics hadn’t left him since he’d first spotted him, but now he acknowledged Rodimus with a nod. “Yes.”

Rodimus took a deep in-vent and extended a hand. “Welcome to Iacon. I’m Rodimus Prime.”

Nightlight’s optics never left his face, searching for who knew what, but he reached out in turn. Slender fingers, white paint scuffed from hard work and little time for preening, prompted a brief flash of familiarity - they looked like like Hot Rod’s had before the upgrade - but then their hands met, and something shot through Rodimus and grounded like a lightning strike. His field flared, the shock lighting him up from the inside out, something lost and long forgotten making him shake - he could _feel_ Nightlight there, feel a dim reflection of the burst of panic as Nightlight’s hands wrapped around his before Nightlight realised what was happening, the feedback snapping to him in turn. 

“Oh,” Nightlight breathed, optics lighting sky-blue and wide with shock as he clung to Rodimus’ hand. “Oh, you _are_ -”

If there had been any doubt, it was gone - _something_ had just reactivated between them, something old...

“Little one,” Nightlight blurted, cleanser welling in his optics. He wobbled forward in a stumbling rush, dropping Rodimus’ hand to wrap both arms around Rodimus’ shoulders, making Danny yelp and cling to Rodimus’s collar fairing - he was taller than his Carrier, Rodimus realised numbly, having to shuffle and scrunch down in the embrace. “Oh, littlespark - I thought I’d lost you, I thought I’d never see you again-!”

“What,” he mumbled, nose in Nightlight’s shoulder, the scent of unfamiliar cleanser and worry mingling in his intakes. “What was-?”

Nightlight actually laughed, and Rodimus would have pulled back in affront, only - it was a gasping, horrible thing, full of tears and static and not very funny at all. “Our carrier bond. I didn’t think- It must have atrophied instead of snapping. My baby...”

Rodimus shuttered his optics, turning his face to Nightlight’s shoulder. “Carrier,” he whispered, his very spark overcome; his free hand landed softly on Nightlight’s back, under his wings. “I thought you didn’t want me. Serif said-”

“Oh, littlespark, of course I wanted you!” Nightlight burst out. He reached up to touch Rodimus’s cheek, only to pause when he finally noticed the human perched on Rodimus’s shoulder. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jostle your pet-”

All three Autobots’ engines choked in unison. Nightlight actually _flinched,_ seeming to realize immediately he’d misstepped even before he saw the shocked look on Rodimus Prime’s face. Even the two Vosians behind him winced. Daniel himself, though his brow was furrowed in displeasure, took a deep breath and tried to comport himself the way his father would. “Hi,” he said, extending a hand with more decorum than warmth. “I’m Daniel. Rodimus Prime’s best friend.”

“...oh.” Nightlight’s wings went back. “I - I’m so sorry. Please forgive my ignorance, Daniel - it’s a great pleasure to meet you.” Tentatively, he offered a fingertip for Daniel to clasp.

“It’s okay,” Daniel told him with a grin, patting the dull white plating. “Better than the time I got called a larva.”

“You handled it better this time, too,” Rodimus pointed out, earning himself a poke from his friend. “Danny is a human,” he added to the Vosians, “the youngling of the Earth ambassador to Cybertron.”

Nightlight flustered again. “We picked up a few Earth broadcasts on the way here. They were - very entertaining.” He summoned a smile from somewhere and straightened his wings. “I look forward to learning more, if I may ask it of you.”

Daniel caught Rodimus’s optic, one eyebrow raised - _I’m game if you are,_ that look said, and Rodimus nodded. “Sure.”

The rather strained smile eased a little, Nightlight’s vents starting up again with a soft, just-barely audible huff. “I’d like that.” He glanced from Danny back to Rodimus, his smile turning hopeful this time. “Our other younglings were hoping someone would be able to explain some of the vocabulary, if it was from a planet you were on good terms with.”

_So they are younglings,_ Rodimus thought, glancing over Nightlight’s wing; the taller Vosians - the _adult_ Vosians - were still blocking the hatch of the ship, but one enterprising youngling engaged eir antigravs and jetted up to the top of the hatch to get a better look out at Iacon. Or, more likely, at who their Winglord was meeting with. His optics met those of the young Vosian - ei looked startled, then grinned in pure reflexive excitement. _Isn’t this awesome?_ ei seemed to be asking, and Rodimus couldn’t help but smile back. Lack of military training aside, the young Vosian could have been himself, before the Matrix had happened to him.

Nightlight turned slightly, following Rodimus’ line of sight, then smiled again himself - a softer, more natural smile this time. 

“Haze,” he said, nodding slightly towards the ship; their caretakers had noticed the hovering youngling and an older Vosian had jetted up after eir to keep an optic on things, much to eir evident displeasure. “One of our older younglings.” He turned back to Rodimus, gave him a small, sad attempt at another smile. “You would have been batchmates if- if things had gone to plan. Eir carrier is Fly-by-Night there.”

“Hello,” Rodimus told the youngling and carrier both, lifting a hand in greeting; Daniel did the same. Haze waved enthusiastically. Fly-by-Night was less enthusiastic, hovering protectively at Haze’s wing, but he managed a faint, polite wave as well. “...oh, sl- ...scrap,” Rodimus muttered. “I don’t think the suites we prepared for you were designed or stocked with younglings in mind. Is there anything in particular they need? I was the youngest in my squad so I don’t really know how to, um, caretaker.”

A crooked smile flickered across Nightlight’s face at Rodimus’s verbal fumble. “It’s very generous of you to offer us accommodation at all, so don’t worry. We’ll keep a good optic on them.”

_Not what I meant,_ Rodimus wanted to protest, but his prediction software couldn’t find any scenario where that conversation ended well. He just nodded instead, and offered to show the Vosians to their suite.

A quick headcount as they poured down the ramp revealed twenty-three adult Vosians and perhaps twice that many younglings - they were harder to count without the Autobots making it obvious that’s what they were doing. _//No wonder the Winglord looks ready for a nap,//_ Springer observed wryly, watching a trine of the half-grown Vosians mob the leading trine with questions and hey-lookit-thats and can-we-pleases. _//It’s like a whole Ark crew of Hot Rods.//_

_//Go rotate yourself, Spring,//_ Rodimus shot back, grinning. Arcee muffled a snicker.

“We’re going to settle in,” Nightlight was telling the younglings firmly, “then if the Prime says it’s all right we can go explore the city.” Dozens of hopeful youngling optics immediately turned Rodimus’s way; Rodimus made an undignified noise. “They’ve never seen a Cybertronian city, or really any city before,” Nightlight apologized.

“Of course they’re welcome,” Rodimus said. “You’re all welcome.” The latter sentence was all but drowned out with cheers and exclamations from the youngling horde, and Rodimus found himself thinking how screwed he would be if Nightlight ever pointed those younglings at him in earnest.

The crowd streaming out of the ship had given the Autobots a chance to get a better look at their new neighbours, at least - bright, healthy plating shone in every colour of the rainbow, the younglings all excited optics and boundless enthusiasm. There was as much variety between the different fliers as there was between any group of Autobots you cared to pick out, and Rodimus briefly lost himself trying to spot all the differences before he noticed them starting to form up and shuffle into groups, all looking expectantly between Nightlight and Rodimus’ group of ‘Bots. An adult Vosian with a deep gold paintjob and white dashes on his wings looked to be doing a headcount; another with green and orange highlights on white paint was doing the same, starting from the other end of the string of younglings. They seemed used to the routine and the task was finished almost as quickly as Rodimus had noticed it, both fliers - hadn’t they been the ones peering out of the hatch first? - heading over to Nightlight when they’d finished the count.

“All present and accounted for, boss,” chirped one, giving Nightlight a slapdash salute that had never so much as seen a drill instructor before. The other chuckled like oncoming thunder, simply nodding his agreement. Nightlight smiled at them both, and it might have been Springer’s snark that made him think it, but Rodimus briefly wondered if coming here had been as stressful for Nightlight as it had been on him.

“Well,” the Winglord said brightly - _maybe a little too brightly,_ said a voice in his head that sounded like Starscream. “We have everything we’ll need from the ship right away, so we’re ready to go.” He raised his voice, turning back to the string of shiny-opticked younglings and their quiet, wary guardians - “Remember what we talked about before we landed. Stay together and stick with your trines, bits, and if anyone misbehaves, they stay in the suite while everyone else explores Iacon.”

“Yes, Night,” went up in a ragged chorus, and Nightlight smiled while Rodimus was still juggling _maybe he really is just tired_ with _are these really the only grown-up Vosians for all these younglings?_ But the grown-up Vosians formed up around the younglings like an honor guard, with Nightlight at their head directing a respectful nod Rodimus’s way.

“After you,” he said, and there was nothing for Rodimus to do but lead on.

*

A cold presence announced itself as Rodimus left the ambassadorial compound, briefly bereft of his own honor guard or Daniel, who’d headed off to relate the story of the meeting to his parents. He waited until he was back in Headquarters proper before acknowledging it. “I suppose you were watching all that.”

“Every detail,” Starscream confirmed, shimmering into view.

Rodimus tilted his head up. “So? What’s your opinion?”

Starscream affected disinterest, crossing his legs in midair. “What makes you think I have an opinion?”

“Is your name Starscream?”

Starscream actually laughed at that. “Well, since you put it that way. I think…” He tilted his head as if to think about his words. “I think my biggest question is what Nightlight intends to do now.”

“Rebuild their lives, I assume,” Rodimus answered.

“They could do that anywhere. Why now? Why here? And don’t say it’s because you’re spark of Nightlight. They didn’t know that when they approached Cybertronian orbit.” Starscream dimmed his optics, frowning at nothing. “If it were me in his position, I’d be interested in establishing my claim to power. Watch for the power play, Rodimus. It’s coming.”

“He didn’t seem to have enough energy for a power play,” Rodimus mused, low-voiced.

_“Stop that.”_

Rodimus glanced up, startled, to catch Starscream’s glare. “Don’t,” the ghost lectured, “let your guard down just because he was your carrier! I’m sure it was very emotional, the scene he put on for you, but he was always good at causing a weepy scene when it suited him. He turned his back on his family - don’t think he won’t turn his back on you.”

Rodimus winced. He didn’t _want_ to listen to Starscream, the things he was accusing _his carrier_ of, but - he was the Prime. More than just his own spark was on the line if he allowed himself to trust too unwisely.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he promised unhappily.

“See that you do.”

*

The Iacon ambassadorial quarters were a series of interlinking suites the Autobots had thrown together as they began to rebuild bridges in the galactic community. As the _Wandering Star_ Vosians filed into the foyer, it changed from a rather empty meeting space for the several smaller apartments and linked suites of the ambassadorial quarters, into what looked like an explosion in an arts and crafts workshop. Fly-by-Night slipped inside as Nightlight thanked the Autobots at the entryway, Lightstorm and Fireflash close behind him; they made a fast inspection of all the interconnected rooms as Thundersong and Skydance checked the inrush of younglings into the main foyer, the other full-framed Vosians not letting the younglings out of their sight until the three returned and nodded - the rooms were safe, no unexpected visitors or unpleasant surprises.

As the younglings promptly split up every which-way to investigate for themselves, Nightlight gave their guides his best attempt at a bright smile before closing the door; he leaned heavily against the wall for the space of one laboured in-out of his vents, then turned to face his people.

“Come on,” Thundersong rumbled softly, sliding into place at his side and curling a hand around Nightlight’s arm. “We need to talk.”

Nightlight only nodded, tight-lipped and hunching in on himself as they crossed the foyer; the other full-frames deftly distracted any of the younglings who might have gone to their lead trine, Skydance falling in on Nightlight’s other side, and they made it to the first empty room without mishap. Skydance locked the door, Thundersong drew Nightlight over to the berth...

Neither had to say a word before Nightlight sat down hard, his intakes gave a mighty heave, and the Winglord of the _Wandering Star_ collapsed into wracking sobs.

“Aw, Night,” Skydance mourned, and almost teleported across the room to cuddle into Nightlight’s side.

“I - I am the w- _worst_ Carrier in the _wooorld,_ ” Nightlight moaned, fists pressed hard against his optics. “Worst Carrier, w-worst Winglord-!”

“No you’re not,” Thundersong murmured, nudging Nightlight to scoot up and over a little before easing him back down against the bigger flier’s shoulder. “You weren’t to know the little bit was sentient, and you apologised right then...”

Nightlight’s only answer was a hard, emphatic shake of his head and messy tears. “He doesn’t - remember me at _all_ ,” came out between sobs, and there was nothing either Vosian could say in reply.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's goodie shop - the hippest and happeningest spot in Iacon! In which the plot thickens alongside the goodie mix.

_Dingle-ding._

“Well, hello there!” Jazz offered a big, bright grin to his customers, a trio of sleek, wide-opticked younglings shepherded by a pair of adult Vosians. “What can I getcha?”

“One thing each,” the taller adult reminded their charges as the younglings peered through the glass at Jazz’s goodie display, and Jazz saw the same thought pass through all three of their minds: _how are we supposed to choose just one thing?_ Which pretty much meant Jazz was doing his job.

The younglings were full of questions - what’s that? What’s in this? How did you get the spiral one to twist like that? (In order: Matrix-shaped gummies; solidified energon and silica pearls; and sorry, bit, that’s a trade secret.) In between engaging the younglings, Jazz peered out the corner of his optic at the adults. No weapons mounts that he could see, which meant they weren’t warbuilds - and non-warbuild Vosians were rare enough nowadays that Jazz’s curiosity was caught. Where had these guys come from? Where had they been during the war?

How had they protected their younglings without arming and training them for war?

“Sparker,” said one of the younglings said, tugging at the smaller adult’s gauntlet. “We should bring some back for Winglord. Can we?”

‘Sparker’ glanced at his partner, optics softening. “I think he’d appreciate that, sweetspark. Do you know what you want?”

She did not, but encouraged by her sisters - and Jazz’s helpful suggestions - she made her choice, and asked for a spiral galaxy for this mysterious Winglord. “Comin’ right up,” Jazz singsonged, and busied himself boxing up the family’s order.

_Winglord, huh?_

_Curiouser and curiouser._

The Vosians left with their boxes, and Jazz puttered back around behind the counter to put some serious thinking power to the question. He had just set to putting his processor to work when-

_Dingle-ding._

“Huh,” he blinked. One adult Vosian and two younglings, this time, and Jazz was getting the faint creeping sensation that either he was being pranked, or something funny was going on here. ...well. Either way, customers! “Hey there, c’mon in!”

“Ooooh!” the Vosian exclaimed, optics bright and hands clasping together as all three glanced around - if this one wasn’t a performer of some description, Jazz would eat his rolling pin. “ _Shiny!_ ”

Jazz couldn’t help himself; he laughed out loud and bowed, as flashily as he could manage behind the counter. “Why thank y’all, I’m here all week.” He got a bright, sparkling laugh from the adult Vosian and a delighted giggle from the youngling- wait, where was the other one?

The whirr of a smaller, highly-powered engine answered that, and suddenly there was another youngling pressed nose-first against the counter. “Ooooh,” ei echoed. “Totallyshiny. Canwecanwepleeeease?”

It turned out that they could indeed please, though these two were allowed five goodies each according the high-speed groundling, who blurted out hir name was Neutrino and ei got through fuel really fast so it was really honestly okay they get more goodies Carrier pleaseplease? ‘Carrier’ held firm against even more goodies, though it was with a bubbly laugh and a ready distraction that held no sting for the younglings. Jazz even got a beaming smile and an artless, enthusiastic hug from the other youngling - Blueshift, apparently, and he certainly accelerated for hugs true to his name - and all three looked around the shop again and chattered about coming back even as they bustled out of the door with their boxes.

“Huh,” Jazz said again as he watched them go, then shook himself. “I really gotta make up more spirals now-”

_Dingle-ding._

_“-buh.”_

No less than eight younglings flooded into his shop, followed by three elder Vosians that gave him a collection of harried, apologetic and flamboyant smiles. And, fortunately, knew how to put their pedes down when one winged youngster found the doorbell _absolutely fascinating_ and wanted to keep opening and closing the door.

“That’s Finder,” a grounder-bit informed him with a worldly-wise roll of hir optics. “I’m Phase. We just came here from space.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Phase,” Jazz told hir. “I’m Jazz. What d’you think of Iacon so far?”

“I like it a lot,” Phase grinned. “I dunno what Winglord and the grownups were so worried for. Everyone’s nice and there’s goodies!”

 _...okay, awwww._ Jazz couldn’t help but grin back. “I’m glad t’ hear it. We’re all workin’ real hard to make Iacon a nice place to be. Are y’all here for a visit, or are y’ thinkin’ about stayin’?”

That was the question that made Phase withdraw uncertainly, glancing at hir caretakers. “I dunno,” ei admitted.

“That’s all right. I’ll be right here with a goodie for ya, whatever y’all decide.” Jazz smiled at hir, careful not to turn the charm on too strong, and was rewarded with Phase smiling again.

A hand landed on Phase’s shoulder, protective; Jazz glanced up to meet the optics of a glamourous white and purple flier with a smaller bitlet tucked in the crook of her arm. “You’ve got a lovely shop,” she said. “Sorry to fill it up with this pack of hooligans. I’m Radiant.”

“Jazz - an’ no need to apologize. Hooligans are my favorite kinda people.”

Radiant laughed: she had a giant’s laugh, loud and fearless. “What a charmer you are! We’ll have to come back again, won’t we, darlings?”

“Yes please!” chorused the younglings, all but the one in Radiant’s arm, who shyly turned his face to his carrier’s shoulder and didn’t respond at all.

“Awww, ain’t that nice t’hear.” Jazz beamed for the more excitable younglings, but couldn’t help his attention being drawn back to the shy one - looked kind of like all the noise and bustle was getting to him, poor bitlet, and didn’t that just remind him of someone he knew?

In between explaining what went into which goodie - to a point - and serving the adult Vosians paying for what the younglings were pointing out, Jazz palmed one of the Matrix gummies and slipped around the counter again. 

“Hey there,” he said, and Radiance turned with a brilliant smile; the shy youngling stayed tucked into her side, her arm around his shoulders and cradling his helm, but Jazz just about caught a flicker of pale blue optics peeking at him, and it was the youngling he addressed. “Noticed y’all didn’t get so much attention or answers there, so I’m sorry ‘bout that. Wanna try one o’ my specials?”

He held his palm out flat, Matrix-gummy just a little sparkly from the crystals he used to top it, and wiggled his fingers invitingly to make it glitter. Not too much, not too close, but Jazz knew perfectly well that he was blocking out some of the noise and activity from the other fliers, and inwardly cheered when the youngling shifted just enough to peer at him.

“Well, isn’t that nice of him?” Radiance said, thankfully not loud enough to be heard over the other younglings’ excited noises. “What do you say, Helios?”

Helios considered the gummy seriously, his grave face reminding Jazz so much of Prowl that he wished his partner were there to see all this. Eventually he tilted his helm slightly and said, “I don’t like gummies.”

“Helios!” Radiance gasped, and Jazz burst out laughing.

“Atta boy,” he cheered. “So, how’s about a crackle-cream or a squish instead?”

“Whassa crackle-cream?” Helios tilted his helm the other way.

“Oh, it’s a little iron shell with sprinkles all over it, and inside is this sweet whipped-fuel stuff… it’s good. Wanna try one?”

Another moment’s thought, and Helios deemed this course of action acceptable. Melting quietly to himself, Jazz went back behind the counter and fetched out the crackle-cream Helios pointed to, and the little one’s optics went bright when he bit into the thin crunchy shell.

“S’ good!” he announced. “...thank you,” he added at a nudge from Radiance.

“Aww. I’m glad you like it, bit. Makes my day,” Jazz beamed. “Y’all come on back any time, serious. I’m having the time of my life.”

“You’ve got a high tolerance for chaos,” Radiance observed, making Jazz laugh again, though he couldn’t tell her why.

*

_Dingle-ding._

“Jazz? You here?”

“Oof,” Jazz muttered. His legs and head ached from the constant stream of customers. He wasn’t _complaining,_ exactly, but…

“C’mon back,” he called, “I ain’t about to get up.” He did manage to lift his head and smile when Rodimus entered the room. “Hey, there’s my favorite Roddy-bit.”

“Hey, Jazz.” Tugging a stool over, Rodimus sat down next to him and sighed. “Rough day?”

“Nah, just busy.” Jazz peered at Rodimus from behind his visor without moving his head. “Got a constant stream of non-warbuild Vosians and their younglings all day. Was the strangest thing.”

He smirked faintly when he saw Rodimus wince. _Bingo._

“Oh. Uh. ...I guess there’s only so many places in Iacon you can take younglings.”

“Pfft.” Jazz waved a hand airily, though his gaze was still locked on Rodimus’ face. “Younglings’ll go just about anywhere, eight-bit, whether you’re with ‘em or not. Seemed a nice bunch of kids, though. Polite.”

“Oh. Well - that’s good.” 

Jazz sat patiently for long moments, but though the silence stretched out long past the point where Rodimus would normally have started talking to fill the gap, the youngling Prime sat still and dim-opticked, worrying at his lower lip. _Have to keep an optic on that,_ Jazz thought to himself. _Musta picked that lil habit up from Danny._

“Welp,” he said aloud, as cheery as if he wasn’t deeply, deeply suspicious. “If y’got nothin’ else to rush off doin’, how do you fancy helpin’ me out here?”

Rodimus visibly perked. “Really?”

“Sure thing! Ain’t gonna go givin’ away _all_ my secrets, but I could do with a hand. An’, well, basically everythin’ in the shop got sold in one afternoon, so~”

“Sure!” Poor bit, he lit right up at the offer. _Could probably do with a job that ain’t gonna explode the universe if he does it wrong,_ Jazz thought to himself, then hauled himself back upright and struck a properly dramatic pose. 

“Minion,” he declaimed, “to th’mixers!”

And if Roddy complained at being called a minion, well, it was the kind of easy argument that could last a whole afternoon and survive multiple dunkings in batter. Jazz might not be able to pry what was wrong out of Roddy right away, but he could definitely make sure that Roddy had somewhere safe to run to when he needed a place to do his thinking.

*

Despite the nice goodie-selling mech, Helios had had enough of new sounds and bright lights far sooner than the other younglings, and so his carrier had brought him back to the ambassadorial suite. He wasn’t happy about it, wished he could be more like Phase or Ion or Doppler or Finder, but the room Carrier had settled him in was dark and quiet, and his head felt much better.

And Winglord was in the next room, resting just like he was. Shimmersea, Featherfall and Dovetail, too, in one of the rooms across from his. It helped that he wasn’t alone.

Thundersong and Skydance were around too - they didn’t need to rest like Helios and Nightlight did, but they were there in case either one needed something. He could hear them puttering around in the main room, talking in soft voices. Helios shuttered his optics and pretended he had a trine like them, instead of four adopted siblings who, though he loved them, could be _so - slagging - LOUD_ sometimes.

With his optics off, Helios heard a third voice, one that made his vents close in sudden fear. Thundersong’s and Skydance’s voices were a kind, soothing murmur, but this one hissed like a razor snake.

Helios couldn’t have said what impulse had him going to the Winglord’s berthroom on his own, rather than getting the other two grown mechs. Skydance and Thundersong were sitting close together, close enough that their wings touched, and as Helios passed he could hear what they were saying.

“-think he’s lying?”

“Think he’s hiding something. If he really doesn’t remember…”

...and then their voices faded back to murmurs, and Helios was peering into Nightlight’s room.

Nightlight himself was curled up into a ball on the berth, just like Helios did sometimes, his wings vibrating with tension and stress. And over him - Helios squinted - a shimmering outline, a winged form bent over the Winglord and hissing in his audial.

 _“You don’t belong here, you know that,”_ he was saying. _“No one here has any use for you. You should leave, you should leave right now. He doesn’t love you-”_

_“GO AWAY.”_

Helios even surprised himself with how loud his voice was, but when the outline’s head jerked up he took a deep vent and shouted again. “You’re _lying!_ You’re nothing but a bad lying voice! Go away!” He charged the berth, scrambling up the blanket intent on taking a swing at the Lying Voice before it could say one more word.

“Bit? You okay?”

Thundersong filled the doorway, wings spread and pedes braced, full of love and protectiveness. The lying voice jerked again, and fled the room without another word.

“Better run,” Helios grumbled.

Nightlight snuffled and blinked blearily around the room. Finding only Helios and Thundersong there, he hummed, wrapped his arms around Helios and snuggled him close, dropping off to sleep again immediately he was so worn out.

“Everything okay?” Thundersong asked, nonplussed.

Content, Helios patted Nightlight’s helm. “Uh-huh. Everything’s fine now.”

*

After half a duty shift of helping out in Jazz’s goodie shop, Rodimus walked out of the door ( _dingle-ding!_ ) feeling as though he had done something worthwhile with his day, even if he didn’t feel much better about the - the Vosian Situation. After thinking it over and hearing about Jazz’s adventures with the ones who had nearly emptied out the Best Little Goodie Shop between them, Rodimus’ plan for the rest of the shift - such as it was - involved visiting the Vosians in the ambassadorial quarters and...improvising from there.

 _No battle-plan ever survives contact with the enemy,_ he thought to himself, then added the traditional Autobot coda - _unless it’s Prowl’s._

To his surprise there was no sign of Starscream on the way back to the Autobot HQ-come-residential section of Iacon. Most of the Vosians were apparently still out of the building exploring, but according to Kup - who he had admittedly drawn off to one side for another much-needed hug to go along with Jazz’s much-needed hugs earlier - Nightlight was one of a small group who had elected to stay in the ambassadorial suite, so at least he hadn’t detoured here for nothing. Rodimus took a moment to steady himself, then pinged the large and as-fancy-as-they-could-make-it entrance to the suite. He told himself he wasn’t at all disappointed when the gold Vosian answered.

“Dashlet,” was the first thing the Vosian said, clearly surprised to see the Prime standing there.

“...huh?” the Prime replied. The Vosian shook his helm, looking vaguely irritated - at himself, Rodimus supposed, though there was an itch under his plating that suggested otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be calling you by your sparkling name. ...I suppose you don’t remember ours.” He stood back far enough to let Rodimus, rather perturbed, into the large foyer; the younglings had already made an impression on the space, a scattering of data pads that looked as old as Rodimus lying on the single table and the awkward sofa occupied by a heap of tangled wire and the other flier who had counted up the younglings after the _Wandering Star_ had docked. He perked in obvious interest and gave Rodimus a cheery little wave - by now very confused, Rodimus gave him a limp sort of wave back.

“Hey!” he chirped. “I dunno if you remember, but I’m Skydance. Thundersong there’s my trinemate. Night was recharging, but I guess we can look in on him if you want?”

“Oh. Um - sure.”

Skydance hopped up from the sofa, navigated the tangle - which, now Rodimus looked further, had spilled under the table and seemed to have eaten several short metal sticks like Kup’s knitting needles as well as part of the sofa - and smilingly gestured for him to follow. Thundersong fell in with them, watching Rodimus with an expression he wasn’t sure how to parse but definitely didn’t like all that much.

He was led to one of the single rooms that led off the foyer, to his surprise - there were suites in the complex that were both bigger and better appointed, but sure enough when Skydance tapped lightly on the door and slid it open, Nightlight was recharging in a loose curl on the berth. The youngling he happened to be curled around sat up a little as the door opened, optics resetting in the light, and fixed Rodimus with a faintly confused Look that clearly asked just what he thought he was doing here.

“Winglord’s recharging,” he informed them in no uncertain terms.

The bottom dropped out of Rodimus’s tank. “Sorry,” he told the youngling who’d seemingly replaced him. “I’ll come back later, huh?”

At the youngling’s nod, Rodimus withdrew, and allowed Skydance to lead him back to the foyer. “Was that…?” he started to ask, then fell into an awkward silence.

“Helios,” Skydance told him, seeming not to notice Rodimus’s hesitation. “Radiance’s little bit. All the younglings kind of see Nightlight as a caretaker, even the ones that do have carriers and sparkers of their own on board.”

...and there went the anvil of guilt, right on cue. How could he resent these younglings any amount of comfort, after they’d lost so much? What right did he have to be jealous of Nightlight’s attention? Rodimus forced himself into diplomatic mode, summoning a smile to show Skydance. “Sounds nice,” he said. “He must be good with younglings.”

“He loves younglings,” Skydance confirmed. “He wanted one of his own since before Thundersong and I ever met him. I still remember how excited he was when he came back from Praxus and told us he was carrying.”

“That was you, naturally.” Rodimus tried not to jump at Thundersong’s sudden reappearance, and was fairly sure he managed it until Thundersong quietly and deliberately stepped back and out of range of his field. “I have to admit, you’re not quite what I’d pictured when I wondered if Nightlight’s youngling was still alive.”

“What happened?” It was the question he had to ask, above any others - it was a miracle he’d lasted this long.

Thundersong glanced at Skydance. “How much _do_ you remember? Anything at all?”

“Sorry, no.” Rodimus opened his hands helplessly. “My earliest memories are from - well, I don’t know how old I was exactly, but as far as I can ever remember I was running with the Autobots. I never would have known - any of this at all if my sparker hadn’t sought me out on the Trek of the Awoken.”

He wondered then if he’d given too much away, or if he’d made a diplomatic misstep when Thundersong and Skydance exchanged strangely alarmed looks.

“That explains more than it doesn’t,” Thundersong said slowly, deep voice troubled; Skydance was nodding before he’d finished speaking, optics bright and worried.

“You don’t remember us?” he asked, the failing hope in his voice making Rodimus wince. “Not any of us? Even a little bit?”

“Sorry.” Rodimus would have followed up with more than a one-shouldered shrug, but an unfamiliar recharge-fuzzy voice from one of the other side-rooms called out a quiet who’s-there before he could. 

“Oh - pause that, I’ll be two clicks then right back. That was Shimmersea,” Skydance added, already halfway to the door. “She didn’t do so well when Vos came down and we didn’t have a medic come with us.”

Rodimus paused where he stood, jaw dropping. “Are you seriously telling me you had all those younglings when you left Cybertron and you didn’t have a _medic_ with you?”

“When your city is being bombed to pieces and you’re mostly sure the world’s about to end,” Thundersong told him dryly, Skydance vanishing as the door closed behind him, “you tend to run with what you can get.”

 _So why didn’t your Winglord run with me?_ a small, forlorn voice asked at the back of Rodimus’ processor; he shoved it back down as far as he could manage and squared his shoulders, meeting Thundersong’s strangely assessing expression with a determined one of his own. “In that case,” he said firmly, “you can help me set up appointments with everyone to get checked over by our medics. No exceptions.”

He half expected Thundersong to bristle pridefully - _I’ve been hanging out with Starscream too long_ \- but the mech only nodded. “Yes. I’d appreciate that, Prime.”

 _I’m back to Prime again. What was that he called me before - Dashlet?_ It wasn’t ringing any bells. “Would it be easier on Shimmersea if the medic came to her, rather than the other way around?”

Thundersong shrugged carefully. “That’s up to her. Some days are better than others - do you have civilian medics, or only military ones? This is an old injury, not fresh battle damage.”

At that Rodimus did bristle, and struggled to hide it. “We do have Neutral medics contracted to our hospital if that would make her more comfortable, but our CMO is highly skilled.” Thundersong glanced at him out of one optic, as arch as if he were a new recruit acting like he could win the whole war on his own, and Rodimus bit his lip fiercely to keep from saying anything further. _How, how is this mech pushing all my buttons?_

“...you may be right,” Thundersong allowed, but it was so clearly a ‘yes, youngling, shut up now’ that Rodimus didn’t trust himself to respond. He was relieved when Skydance returned, bringing back his bouncy cheer as a distraction. “How is she?” Thundersong asked.

“Fine, she just wanted to know who was here. She says hello, by the way,” Skydance added to Rodimus, and the young Prime nodded in reply. “So, can I get you anything? We found this amazing little goodie shop downtown… what?” he asked when Rodimus suddenly giggled.

“Umm.” It felt so good to giggle after the tension between him and Thundersong that Rodimus couldn’t stop grinning. “Nothing, it’s just that shop’s owner is a friend of mine.”

*

It soon became apparent, even when the other Vosians began arriving back at the ambassadorial suite, that Thundersong hadn’t just been throwing his weight around for Rodimus’ sake. While the Winglord recharged and the other members of the colony gradually filtered in, Thundersong noted down which Vosians had been living with long-term damage and who had niggling things like clicky joints and strains, basic complaints that could wait until the others had been seen to, and the names of the other Vosians making up the colony who could do with a check-up but didn’t have any immediate problems the medics should know about. When Nightlight did wobble out of the room he’d dozed off in, Helios tucked into his side, he briefly looked like he expected something to have exploded in his absence before the hubbub was explained.

He lit up when he saw Rodimus there, and Rodimus wasn’t at all sure how to react.

“It’s fine,” Nightlight said when Rodimus stumbled through an explanation. “Thundersong is the heir-presumptive for the colony, so if you ever needed anything and I wasn’t around, you could go to him and Skydance.” He smiled, and Rodimus thought it looked hopeful though he couldn’t work out why. Thundersong clearly didn’t like him all that much, for all that Skydance seemed perfectly, genuinely friendly. “Although that might have to be rearranged now we - we know you’re all right. Thunder and ‘Dance are trine, but you would be my heir-presumptive and they would be your guardians if anything happened to me.”

Rodimus stiffened. Was this it, the power play that Starscream had warned him about? Was Nightlight trying to get him on-side with a subtler offer than Starscream had ever managed with Megatron? What could he say to _that?_

Who would want to be in charge of even more than the Prime had to handle?

Thankfully, before he could say anything, there was another ping from the main door.

“I’ll get it,” he blurted. “That’s probably First Aid and the medics.” He lunged for the door, Nightlight’s smile freezing into something almost _hurt_ burned into his processor.

To his immense relief, once First Aid and his complement of medics filed in there was no question of talking about politics. While two of the newer medics - Clean Sweep and Filter, who introduced themselves with a cheerful forthrightness that put Rodimus in mind of Bumblebee - set up shop in one of the unoccupied suites for wellness checks, Thundersong escorted First Aid and Swoop into Shimmersea’s suite. Rodimus hovered awkwardly just outside. “Just in case ‘Aid needs some extra hands,” he told Skydance and Nightlight. “I have some medical training, although it’s mostly of the ‘field’ variety.”

Nightlight brightened a bit from his previous wilt. “Do you? Good for you. That’s a useful skill, and not easy to learn.”

Rodimus shrugged and offered a smile, trying to be gracious about the praise without wondering whether it was sincere. “It wasn’t easy, but it was something I could do to help.”

Nightlight’s expression visibly softened. “I think that’s very good-sparked of you.”

Rodimus glanced away, unwilling to try to explain - it wasn’t out of kindness, it was _necessary,_ they were at _war,_ but how could he even begin to communicate that context? Even the Neutrals who’d weathered it on Cybertron would be better equipped to understand. Excited voices approached the doorway behind him, saving Rodimus from having to formulate a reply.

“Rodimus!” Swoop announced, ushering two sleek-built younglings out of Shimmersea’s suite. “This Featherfall and Dovetail, Shimmersea’s twins. They want to meet you!”

The twins - both winged, and it was odd that that struck Rodimus as unusual - peered up at him, all uncomplicated curiosity. Rodimus glanced past Swoop’s shoulder, saw First Aid perched next to a tired-looking Vosian who smiled as she talked to him. _Guess he’s okay for now,_ Rodimus thought. “Nice to meet you two,” he said. “What do you think of Cybertron so far?”

“It’s very nice,” one said with a thoughtful sort of diplomacy. “Everyone’s been very polite to us. We just- um.”

“We wanted to ask you when the medic is going to look at Carrier,” the other youngling said, with the air of someone who had worried for long enough and damn the torpedoes. “First Aid’s talking to her and he’s nice, but he’s only our age.”

“Why aren’t there any adults here?” the first youngling added as Rodimus gaped. “ _Everybody_ we’ve seen is our age except for the mech in the goodie shop and the big purple jet with two altmodes.”

There was an awkward pause - the twins apologetic but determined to get some answers, Swoop and Rodimus staring, and from just inside the door First Aid let out a noise like someone had just trodden on his spark.

“Oh dear,” Shimmersea murmured faintly, her optics dimming; pale gold, unlike her twins, matching the faint shine of gold over her deep purple paint. She tipped her head back against the wall behind the berth, letting it support her helm as well as her wings as she tilted to glance at First Aid. “I’m sorry, sweetspark. They’re not questioning all your hard work. They’re just worried.”

“There isn’t another medic,” First Aid interrupted, his voice filling with static. “There isn’t another adult medic, he- he died in the war, he was my mentor and we miss him so much...”

Rodimus’ optics widened, then a muffled sniffle tugged his attention back to Swoop - the big Dinobot was rubbing one optic and looking just as shocked at it as Rodimus.

“Oh,” Shimmersea breathed, more spark in her optics now than there had been since she had wobbled down the colony ship’s ramp. “Oh, you poor things.” One of her hands had been in First Aid’s lap already, her medical access hatch bared for him to get some preliminary readings, so all the Vosian had to do was reach up to curl her hand around First Aid’s arm in an offer to draw him to her. He didn’t resist, curling up at her side and hiding his face against her plating; his shoulders shook, and Swoop was already moving even as Shimmersea offered her other arm out to him.

“I’m so sorry,” she was saying softly as the Dinobot cuddled up half on the berth and half on the floor - the twins spun about and left Rodimus in the doorway, staring as they settled into any spare space on the berth to help snuggle both Autobots.

Rodimus was left in an island of silent pain. First Aid was open with his grief, even with these mechs he’d just met - there was no such thing as a ‘stranger’ to ‘Aid - and he was already talking about Ratchet, describing his manner and his medbay and his kind, skilled hands, while Swoop rested his helm in Featherfall’s lap and trusted ‘Aid to speak for both of them. Part of Rodimus desperately wanted to join them, but he hadn’t been anywhere near as close to Ratchet as ‘Aid and Swoop had been, and he still didn’t quite believe he had the right to mourn his own predecessor. No matter what Optimus had to say about it the last Trek night.

A hand rested lightly on his hip, cool and gentle. Rodimus didn’t look, but he didn’t pull away either, and Nightlight took that as silent permission. He was still cautious, though - rather than ask Rodimus to turn, or to hug him, or to move in any way he molded his body around Rodimus’s, resting his helm against the young Prime’s shoulder and leaning just a little bit on him. Rodimus bit his lip, shut his vents tightly and took what comfort he could from the strange, shining connection between them that he was only beginning to call a _carrier bond._

To the Pit with Starscream. If this was some sort of ploy by Nightlight, then he was doing a great job.

“It’s okay if you want to sit with them, sweetspark,” Nightlight murmured.

“Better not,” Rodimus sighed. “Someone’s got to be designated driver.”

Nightlight took a moment to figure that one out. “...all right,” he allowed. “But, if you don’t need to be, and you wanted to talk…” Rodimus felt his shoulders hunch. “...I hope you have people you can talk to,” Nightlight finished, and his voice sounded a little strained.

Guilt, guilt guilt guilt, never mind that they were strangers for all practical purposes - the carrier bond was all they shared. “Don’t worry about me,” Rodimus answered, managing to meet Nightlight’s optics. “I’ve practically got a support group.”

Nightlight managed a brief smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I worry sometimes - I know you’re Prime and all, but it seems so odd to me, putting so much responsibility on someone your age.”

Rodimus let his gaze fall away from Nightlight, falling on First Aid as he cuddled into Shimmersea’s arm. “Sometimes there’s no choice,” he murmured. “All you can do is pick up the burdens left to you and keep going as best you can with them.”

“Oh, sweetspark,” Nightlight whispered, and this time Rodimus could hear his voice struggling not to break.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vos is visited, shenanigans shenan, and Holes Happen. ...to Rodimus, mostly.

“I was hoping we might be able to visit Vos,” Nightlight said, and Rodimus had to reset his vocaliser.

The medical visit for the Vosians had thrown up several long-term injuries that would take multiple medbay visits to fix - First Aid had checked Shimmersea over after he and Swoop had composed themselves and been flabbergasted at the progress her self-repair had made without medical intervention. Nothing he could talk to Rodimus about in detail, but it seemed that some of the Vosians had had a harder time leaving the falling city than others. Featherfall had said in Rodimus’ hearing that their carrier had spent a long time lying down when they were small, and more often than not had left the artificial gravity in their part of the ship disabled - there was only so much that basic repairs could do for cracked support struts and crushed metal.

Fly-by-Night, too, would be visiting the medbay and the more specialised equipment that couldn’t be brought to the ambassadorial suite. There was some kind of old damage to his neck and shoulder that had fractured into his vocaliser - fixable, but his self-repair hadn’t been able to do anything about the small fragments and instead had sealed the damage around them. He wasn’t happy about it, but signed his agreement and that he would be accompanying Shimmersea whenever she had to go down to the medbay, so it made sense to see them together.

The younglings, on the other hand, were all in as good repair as anyone could ask for. A few more of the adults had had minor injuries, old and comparatively new, that the Cybertronian medics could repair in the ambassadorial suite, and First Aid had declared himself satisfied after arranging for a repeat check-up on those minor repairs and setting up a schedule to see to major ones. The medics had left with their equipment and Rodimus was just about to follow when Nightlight had spoken, and Rodimus’ fuel tank promptly melted down to the level of his pedes.

“I guess,” he said doubtfully, watching the older mech’s face - trying for impassive, but with something hopeful in his optics that Rodimus still wasn’t sure how to interpret, slaggit Starscream. “There’s not an awful lot left to look at, and the surveys we’ve managed aren’t hopeful that it’ll be habitable any time soon…”

Nightlight’s optics widened, too suddenly to be anything but genuine. “You mean there’s something still standing?” he blurted, and this time it was Rodimus’ turn to stare.

“Uh - yes? Like I said, not much…” He was trying to suppress Nightlight’s expectations, but every word seemed to have the opposite effect than what he intended.

“But, it’s not all gone,” he breathed, clutching his own hands together. “We could - maybe we could rebuild it. At least rebuild _something_ of it.”

“I don’t know,” Rodimus hedged. “I mean, we haven’t been out there very much, but the surveyors told me there wasn’t a lot of hope. I don’t want you to go all the way out there only to be disappointed.”

Nightlight looked fully at him then, and this time his optics were more serious and clear than Rodimus had ever seen from him. “Little one, we returned from Cybertron expecting Vos to be a _crater._ If there’s even one strut left standing, I won’t be disappointed.”

“I guess there’s something to be said for keeping your expectations low,” Rodimus observed dryly, and felt rather than saw Nightlight flinch. “...sorry,” he offered, wincing a little himself. “I’ve been told my sense of humor is like being slapped in the face with a morphobot.”

Nightlight visibly rallied. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“But it’s okay if you’re thinking it. I’ll pull a team together, all right? You talk to your people, see who’s going, and get back to me.”

Nightlight nodded. “That’s fair. Thank you-” He caught his voice, determinedly kept going. “...Rodimus.”

“...sure.”

Rodimus took his leave, after checking in one last time with First Aid and the other medics, and managed to keep a straight face until he was well away from the ambassadorial compound. “Okay, what?” he said out loud.

The spike of furious cold that had dogged him all day bloomed into a full-color furious Seeker. “You,” Starscream spat, “haven’t been _listening.”_

“I’ve been listening just fine,” Rodimus argued, and grimaced inwardly at how he sounded to himself - like one of the smaller younglings trying to argue a point. “Nightlight wasn’t the only Vosian on that ship, you know.”

“I know perfectly well who else was on that ship, better than you do by far!” Starscream seethed. “Oh, they all sound so gentle and helpless with their cute little younglings - most of whom are the same age as you, may I remind you, and you were capable of doing some damage of your own even when you were a short-aft instead of a Prime!”

“Careful, Starscream, or I’ll think that was meant to be a compliment.” He did his best to keep his voice dry and flat but his insides roiled without him - First Aid may well have a full list of names for the mechs from the _Wandering Star,_ but without an accurate census that went back to the pre-war era that list meant less than nothing. It didn’t even guarantee the names the Vosians gave were their own.

Starscream let out a noise that could have rattled windows, swooping in close and baring denta in something that was far from a smile. “A compliment? Perhaps, to someone like Fly-by-Night. Having a damaged vocaliser is a useful excuse for the head of the Vosian Special Intelligence branch, I would imagine - just ask your precious Uncle Jazz if he ever used it himself. Or maybe it would be a compliment to Radiant - she’s capable of doing some damage herself, or did you not ask how some of them got their injuries? Not a scratch on _her,_ of course, she’s far too careful for that, but I can guarantee you she left a trail of mechs with their optics blown out on the way to that colony ship. _Her_ name is an accurate one. She dodged the draft _very_ neatly by getting sparked up when she did, or did you not notice how much smaller that sparkling of hers is compared to the other ones?”

The ghost jetted higher, not accidentally giving Rodimus space to vent freely again; it felt as though his temperature readouts were fluctuating wildly, hot to cold all over, but the displays stayed the same.

“You’re dealing with an unknown quantity, _Rodimus Prime,_ and don’t you forget it,” Starscream warned. “If you’re planning on running off to Vos on a fool’s errand like this one, take an extra blaster. I would if I were you.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” Rodimus snapped, stung in more directions than one. “It’s not just going to be me and the Vosians. I’m not quite that stupid, whatever you might think.”

He saw Starscream’s expression change, the angry sneer draining from him. “No,” the ghost allowed. “You’re not stupid. I never thought that.” Rodimus leaned back against the wall, unwilling to relax even with Starscream coming as close as he ever came to apologizing. “But you are an Autobot, and-” He waffled a hand in the air, searching for the phrase he wanted. “Very Iaconian in your thinking. It makes you vulnerable to the type of tactics Nightlight always used.”

“Leaning too hard on family?” Rodimus guessed.

“Yes and no.” Starscream gave him a smirk. “Loyalty to wing-kin was a valued trait in Vos - one Nightlight always craved, without ever being particularly loyal himself.”

Rodimus glanced aside. “...he said I was his heir-presumptive,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Starscream fairly _glittered_ with interest. “Did he now? I wonder what his _former_ heir thinks of that.”

Rodimus’s tanks clenched.

*

“Lad! Get over here, we’re ready to take off.”

Rodimus hurried across the gangplank. Worry and doubt had made recharge impossible, and he was practically running on fumes now; about all he was capable of mentally was responding to orders the way he had as a mere soldier. “Hey, Kup,” he greeted, low-voiced.

Kup frowned up at him. “You,” he accused, “look like you’ve been running drills for the past thirty cycles. You sure you’re up for this? Say the word and I’ll scrub the mission.”

“I’m fine, Kup.” For a given value of fine, he excused himself, but Primes didn’t get to take sick days just for being a little short on sleep. “Let’s get going.” He headed up the gangplank, Kup’s displeasure radiating behind him.

The Vosians were already seated and strapped in - Nightlight, his instinctive hopeful smile fading as he saw Rodimus’ pale optics and drawn expression; Thundersong, who Rodimus did _not_ want looking at him right now, with Skydance waving brightly beside him; three other Vosians whose names he didn’t know, and - to his relief - Arcee and Springer already finishing up the pre-flight checks. This was a civilian shuttle, not an Autobot one, and Rodimus was not about to ask Kup where they had come up with it on short notice. Certainly not when he was already in the old mech’s bad books.

“Everyone ready?” he asked, striding up the aisle to the cockpit and avoiding catching the optic of any of the Vosian passengers as hard as he possibly could. Kup grumbled away behind him, but the shuttle’s ramp retracted and the door slid shut, locking without any problems.

“You took your time,” Springer greeted him.

“Yeah, well, the world doesn’t stop for day trips,” he replied absently, feeling Nightlight’s wistful optics on his back like a brand. Kup came up the length of the shuttle to strap into his own seat, the click of the clasp meaningfully loud over the rumble of the engines warming up, and Rodimus took the hint to take the last empty chair and make sure his own straps were secure.

“All right,” he sighed, fixing his gaze stubbornly on what he could see of the bridge’s viewport. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

*

It was an excruciatingly awkward journey to Vos. Objectively speaking it didn’t take all that long for the broken spires of the city to come into view, but Rodimus shuttered his optics and made every effort to catch up on his recharge; when that failed, he eavesdropped on the conversations around him with only a small guilt-anvil to show for it.

Arcee and Springer bickered on occasion, mostly when Springer was getting bored or restless, and Kup seemed to be just as interested in keeping them both distracted as he was in eyeballing the Vosians. The fliers were perfectly aware of it too, which only added to the awkward. Rodimus’ listening in did mean that he managed to figure out which Vosian’s voice was which - Countdown was a light tenor, distracted and scribbling numbers on a datapad, which helped Rodimus put a face to the name; only one of the fliers had been holding a datapad. Resonance had a smooth voice that sounded a tiny bit like Celesti when he was playing at being his most urbane and charming, which was actually kind of jarring, and Caldera had a voice like someone gargling molten metal. Which kind of made sense, Rodimus reasoned; she seemed to have something to do with the integrity of the metalwork they’d encounter, so that fit. ...he might be more tired than he’d thought, if that was what he was focussing on.

All at once the Vosians let out near-unanimous gasps and soft little cries - Vos had clearly just hazed into view on the horizon, and Rodimus onlined his optics.

“Primus,” Nightlight breathed, sounding like he was right by Rodimus’s audial. “Oh, Primus - oh, Vos.”

“How is any of it still standing?” Countdown murmured. “The acid rain alone…”

“But.” Skydance’s voice was high and full of fragile hope. “But at least there’s _something_ standing, right? That’s enough to rebuild from. I’m sure of it!”

Thundersong, a dark presence at Nightlight’s side, said nothing.

Beside Rodimus, Kup was sitting forward in his seat. “Docking spire’s gone,” he commented. “We’ll have to find an alternate approach.”

“I can help,” Resonance volunteered. “I used to pilot survey shuttles in and out of Bridgeway. There were lots of places you could set down if the main docking tower was busy.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Springer called. “Try to aim for something that won’t crumble when I land on it.”

“That’s my department.” Caldera unbuckled herself and moved forward, standing behind Springer’s seat. “Drop your shields so I can get some decent scans. I promise the old spire-to-air missile systems are offline.”

“Comforting,” Springer snorted, but he did as Caldera asked, and between her scans, Resonance’s experience and Springer’s skill, they soon found a dock that - though the metal groaned like a cityformer in pain - accepted their shuttle.

“Everyone watch your step as you get out,” Kup announced, even as the Vosians eagerly unbuckled themselves. “Remember not all of us have repulsors.”

Nightlight’s optics flickered as he glanced at the older mech. “Buddy system,” he announced. “Everyone, pick an Iaconian and stay with them, just in case.”

“Now wait just one astrosecond,” Kup protested, more on general principles than anything, but Skydance had already plunked himself by Kup’s side, grinning, and Caldera was making a little bow to Arcee. Springer was making faces at Countdown and Resonance, but his field read ‘amused’ rather than ‘annoyed.’

“We’ll take point,” Nightlight said, Thundersong still shadowing his wing. “I know you’ll be all right, but stick close to us just in case.”

 _Some kind of challenge?_ Rodimus wondered. “Sure. Lead on, Winglord.”

Nightlight flinched a little at that, and Rodimus couldn’t help but wonder why. He didn’t miss Thundersong stepping a little closer as they moved to disembark, one golden hand brushing Nightlight’s arm, or the way Skydance’s mouth briefly puckered in sympathy like Danny with a lemon.

He didn’t miss the icy-cold brush at the edge of his field, either.

They filed cautiously out into what looked to Rodimus like an old storage hangar, marked and scarred from millennia of acid rain but more solid than the spire had looked from the outside.

“Highcrest Gate,” Caldera told Arcee in a gritty whisper. She had three younglings, Rodimus saw as he surreptitiously checked the list of Vosian names; one of them a femme barely younger than the Autobot gunner. Maybe that’s why she’d volunteered to be Arcee’s emergency catcher. “Never thought I’d see this place again.”

“Never saw much of it anyway, even when we were staying here,” Skydance muttered, looking around and unconsciously edging closer to the nearest mech - Kup, to his evident discombobulation. “Eesh, I wish we’d picked a different one. This Gate was creepy even when it was still in one piece.”

“Was it really that bad?” Nightlight asked, his tone rather crestfallen and turning to look back at the other Vosians; his wings were drooping, Rodimus saw with a start. They were all shaking their heads, Skydance looking very guilty at having been overheard.

“No-o,” he protested, not very convincingly. “It’s just…”

“I know,” came the soft reply, and Rodimus wasn’t so distracted by the creak and sigh of the ancient gutted structure that he missed the sympathetic looks the Vosians were giving their Winglord. He stepped forward, passing Thundersong - and didn’t that feel all the more uncomfortable here - and started fiddling with the corroded panel by the door.

“Hey, Roddy, I got a blaster that makes a pretty good lock pick,” Springer called over as the others moved to join him.

“I really hope you’re joking,” Rodimus groused back, then yelped as the panel spat out a vicious gout of sparks and the door began to groan open.

Beyond: more hole than hallway, giving the team an awe-inspiring, horror-inspiring view of the ruins of Vos. Three spires were crumbled entirely, burying the bases of the rest in impassable wreckage; two were jagged stubs. One stood in ragged defiance, tall and relatively intact, though its windows were blown out and one side was buckled as though one of those fallen spires had landed on it before crumbling completely. The seventh and last was the one they were in now, and Rodimus glanced at Nightlight, hoping for some insight.

Their optics met, and Nightlight smiled, though his optics were searching. “This is where I grew up,” he offered.

Cold flickered at Rodimus’s back; he ignored it with an effort. “Did you like it?”

Something - some old pain, carried for such a long time - glowed bright and broken behind Nightlight’s optics. “...it had its moments, but - for the most part, I never felt quite at home here.” Skydance muttered something Rodimus didn’t quite catch, but whatever it was, it made Kup snort in unwilling amusement. “But even at my most uncharitable, I never would have wished this kind of destruction on it.”

Nightlight turned his head away as he spoke, but not fast enough to catch the glimmer at the edge of his optics. Rodimus _felt_ his ghostly follower flash in affront, but even if it was meant to manipulate him, his spark couldn’t help but respond. “Sorry,” he offered quietly. “I wish-”

_I wish I could change history so it had never happened. I wish I could offer you some better memories._

Nightlight seemed to understand what he didn’t say. “Thank you, sweetspark,” he said, turned and smiled again. “Shall we move on? The grand ballroom is just ahead, I think.”

*

There _was_ a ballroom ahead, and it _had_ presumably once been grand, but the multifaceted windows were blown out and broken, some sad jagged fragments twisting up in their frames and casting jewelled shadows across the floor. The ceiling rose in a graceful arch high overhead, the supporting columns framing the windows, tall and narrow until perspective kicked in and Rodimus realised that Skyfire could have walked through those windows had the hinges not been fused into scrap. The room was vast, though practically speaking that only meant more mess and rubble. The once-beautiful tiled floor was cracked and almost all of the intricate tiles were broken, though the pieces seemed to have scattered across the room where they hadn’t fallen through the gaps blown through the floor. Skydance exclaimed something wordless and hopped into the air on his antigravs, darting across the room like a hummingbird and filling his hands with the pieces.

“Artists,” Resonance chuckled, and the Vosians drifted to the shattered windows like beings magnetised. At least, most of them did; Thundersong drifted over to Skydance, the other Vosian having paused briefly in his treasure hunt to try and piece one of the tiles together. They spoke quietly to each other as Countdown and Caldera scanned the room, starting to argue thoughtfully about just how sound this part of the tower was and whether it would be better to start here or try the other, mostly-intact tower - Bridgeway, Resonance told Springer, noticing the nearby Autobot’s interest when the other two carried on oblivious to it.

Rodimus himself kept to the entryway, faintly anxious for reasons he couldn’t pin down. He wasn’t entirely sure that the floor would bear his weight, though Caldera, the largest and heaviest of the Vosians by some margin, seemed unconcerned - then again, she could fly. And scan the support struts under the floor, so she probably had the resources and the information that meant she didn’t _need_ to worry.

What worried Rodimus most was that this place didn’t seem creepy. Sad, unutterably sad, but - not as eerie as he’d expected. This was a place people had lived in, not just a pile of wreckage - in the hallway they had passed through, someone had dropped a datapad, its charge long since run down and the screen cracked, but still potentially functional. Someone else had hidden or lost an energon cube in an alcove near the ballroom’s high, wide double doors - a bored youngling or a tired guard, maybe, though all Rodimus knew of places like this was the aftermath. Rubble and war, using colonnades for cover.

Then why did this place make him want to vibrate out of his plating?

“All right, lad?” Kup, staying protectively close to his long-time ward.

“Fine.” Rodimus straightened, trying to hang on to some kind of equilibrium. Trying, failing, to shake off the feeling of unreality. “Kup? Were we ever in a place like this?”

“We didn’t see too many strategically important ballrooms, Roddy.” Kup’s dry tone brought Rodimus back to himself, making him smile - _that_ was where Rodimus got his regrettable sense of humor. “Why, is somethin’ pinging a memory cache at you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Rodimus looked up again. Thundersong had coaxed Skydance to put his handful of broken tiles into his subspace, taking his hands and murmuring something in a gentle voice. As Rodimus watched, the two of them lifted into the air, spinning slowly as they rose toward the ceiling.

Rodimus’s vision doubled as a damaged memory circuit finally made a connection. In a glittering overlay he saw the ballroom as it had been once, golden and gleaming and perfect, filled with dancers moving in a strange, stately swirl. It had seemed so much bigger then, so full of import, yet he hadn’t been afraid.

“Lad!” Kup caught his arm, and Rodimus realized his gyroscopic functions had cut out from the doubled input and he’d started to fall. “Easy now,” the older mech murmured, easing him down to sit. “You’re all right. I’m gonna run a diagnostic.”

“No.” Rodimus held out a hand. “I’m fine, Kup. I just - I think I remembered something.”

Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Nightlight hovering, anxious and hopeful all at once. The Vosian obviously wanted to come over, and Rodimus couldn’t help but question why - and why he held back, come to that. Too many questions, not enough answers and the background sting of his self-repair working somewhere behind his optics.

“I’ll tell you later,” he muttered to Kup, and the older mech instantly understood why without him having to say it.

“All right,” Kup allowed, though there was a dubious undertone to his voice that Rodimus caught at once. “If you’re sure, lad.”

“Sure I’m sure.” He gave Kup his best attempt at a feckless grin, and Kup huffed and waved him away.

“Ah, go on. I’m still gonna check you over when we’re done here, don’t think I won’t.” Rodimus took the accusatory point his way with good grace as Kup ambled over to where Resonance was inspecting the window hinges, then hesitated before glancing up again; Thundersong and Skydance were whirling through the air, effortless and graceful, dipping and parting and catching each other’s hands as they danced to Thundersong’s voice.

Rodimus shivered, the damaged circuitry itching as his self repair hedged around the edges, then hurried after Kup before Nightlight could catch him alone.

*

The ballroom was amazingly sound, structurally speaking, and the scouting party agreed to base their explorations from there. It was large enough to accommodate them all and close to the shuttle, as well as giving a panoramic view out across the damaged spires.

“Well,” Resonance sighed, looking out through one of the broken panes again; “if we were going to start anywhere, it would have to be here or Bridgeway. Everything else would have to be rebuilt more or less from the rubble up, and I don’t need to tell you that’s a crippling blow to any industry we might have had without the Solus Gate functional.”

Nightlight hummed absently, half his attention still on Rodimus. “That’s true, but then there were always the smaller forges that linked out from Solus - I’m not saying an artist’s forge would have the same processing capacity as Solus, far from it, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Solus went up like a torch, we wouldn’t get anything from there. Sunrise, now - it looks as fragile as the glass here, and you wouldn’t think it’d be stronger than Solus’ factories, but it was further away from the reactors going up than Farsight. The labs and libraries are gone.”

“Given how few of us there are in our particular colony, _that_ is an issue for whoever has to rebuild the city,” Nightlight said with a sigh. “We’re hardly enough to make full use of a tower, even now.”

Resonance patted his shoulder, mindful of his wing. “Maybe that’s a good thing. We’ll likely be left alone.”

The Winglord sighed and nodded, giving Resonance a small smile, and didn’t _that_ little exchange just leave Springer abuzz with curiousity.

It wasn’t any easier for him to catch the Prime alone than it was for Nightlight, though, at least while Nightlight’s ‘buddy system’ was in play. When Rodimus retreated from the ballroom and the source of his headache, Kup followed, and of course when Skydance saw his ‘buddy’ leaving he had to follow. Thundersong drifted after where Skydance led, though Rodimus wasn’t confident the flier would catch him if he fell. _He’s got nothing to gain by doing so, and everything to lose if I walk out of here functional._

_Slaggit, that’s something Starscream would think._

Restless, Rodimus paced down the hallway, pausing to look up the empty shaft where a lift had once operated. “Where does this lead?” he asked.

“Above us are the Council chambers,” Thundersong said, and Rodimus tried not to jump. “Where most of the - well. The actual _work_ of governing was done in back rooms and bars across the spire, but the chambers were where all the speeches and voting took place.” There was a wry half-smile on his face as he spoke, and Rodimus found himself smiling back, all too familiar with the political skullduggery the older Vosian spoke of. “And above that was the eirie of the Winglord, where Nightlight lived until he was somewhat unofficially exiled for bearing a grounder sparkling.”

Rodimus stiffened, and further down the hall, Kup’s engine growled. Thundersong’s optics flicked to the older mech, then back to Rodimus. “I could have phrased that better,” he said. “I’m not trying to blame you.”

“Well - good,” Rodimus said warily.

“The truth is…” This time Thundersong’s glance went to Skydance. “Being exiled probably was the best thing that could have happened to Nightlight. His family was… They weren’t nice people, I’m afraid.”

Rodimus wasn’t sure if Starscream was eavesdropping on this conversation, but he could well imagine the Seeker’s response to _that._ Despite himself, he smiled. “Considering the reputation of one of them…”

“He-whose-name-is-not-to-be-said,” Thundersong warned him. “That’s the rule.”

“Then how do we know we’re talking about the same person?”

Thundersong rolled his optics. “No other of Nightlight’s family ever came close to such notoriety as _that_ one did.”

“They were all nasty,” Skydance clarified, “but he was the only mech I’ve met and really thought _frag, he’s gonna throw me out of the window._ ”

“Pfft. If he had tried throwing you out of anything, he’d have broken your thrusters first. Spiteful brat.”

Rodimus’ vents wheezed from the effort of holding in a laugh, but the furious prickle of cold from somewhere overhead helped. “Uh, yeah, he wasn’t all that - charitable.”

Both Vosians rounded on him Skydance’s optics huge, Thundersong’s skeptical. “Waitwaitwait,” Skydance blurted. “You remember _him_ and not _us?_ ” Augh fraggit he sounded so hurt - that plus an instinctive bristle at Thundersong’s expression had Rodimus drawing himself up. 

“He was a Decepticon,” he replied defensively. “We’d met a few times.”

“Met?” Thundersong said sharply, optics narrow. “Past tense?”

“Past tense,” Rodimus snapped back, any brief sense of hostilities easing having abruptly fled. “He died just before Unicron attacked - his own commander shot him through the spark.” He marched past Thundersong, not wanting to see the older mech’s reaction and taking the tiniest, guilty bit of satisfaction in the Vosian having to step back out of his way, hearing Kup start towards him from the other end of the damaged hallway - and stopping short as he saw Nightlight standing in the ballroom doorway, optics pale and looking unutterably shaken.

 _Oh frag,_ some part of him wailed, and a spark of rebellion flared up from wherever the Matrix had buried Hot Rod. He turned on his heel, striking out along another wide, damaged hallway that once led up to the ballroom on a gradual slope.

“Rodimus?”

 _Don’t follow me,_ he thought to himself, hearing uncertain pedefalls behind him.

The moment of distraction cost him. He took another step, then a cracking groan rose from the floor under his pedes - a strut gave way under him, and Rodimus plunged into darkness.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the deepest parts of Highcrest Gate, Rodimus regains another memory, despite Starscream's best efforts.

_”Dash!”_

A hand clamped down on his arm, and for an astrosecond Rodimus thought he was safe - but Primes are heavier than Vosians, and his would-be savior was dragged down with him. Repulsors fired amid a desperate plea that was more than half prayer, and Rodimus realized it was Nightlight who had that grip on him, who was falling with him.

“Let go!” he yelled.

Again, that flash of hurt in Nightlight’s optics. _”Never!_ Never again!”

_Again?_ Rodimus wanted to ask, but then they crashed into the edge of a protruding walkway, and in the bright flash of pain he forgot.

They fell. They fell, and Nightlight could slow him but not stop him, and Rodimus tried desperately not to think of falling through Unicron’s body but the pain and darkness stripped his mind of what few defenses it had against flashbacks. He cried out again, wordless and desperate, and clutched Nightlight’s arm just in time for them to hit a pile of rubble that left him in more pain than the walkway had. Damage warnings slurred into a haze and Rodimus blacked out.

Consciousness returned reluctantly. Rodimus lay still, pain binding him like a chain, as the world resolved around him again. The first thing he was aware of was a pair of familiar voices.

“I’m dead. I’m _dead,_ I died, I’m dead…”

“You are not dead, you vapor-for-brains!”

“I’m dead and I went to the Pit and this is my punishment for being the _worst Carrier ever._ I’m trapped with you for the rest of eternity!”

“HEY!”

“Unh,” Rodimus grunted, and the first voice cut off with a squeak.

“Dashlet,” it breathed, then there was a rush and the scrabble of metal on loose rubble and Nightlight’s face appeared over him, vents running hot and optics sheening over. “Don’t move,” he was saying, rattling the words out like a mantra as his hands swept unsteady-light over Rodimus’ frame. “Don’t move, you’re all right, you’re all right, oh Primus. Hold still, sweetspark - can you tell me what hurts?”

Rodimus’ vents backfired, dust blasting into the air and every single joint and cable in his frame shrieked in protest, whiting out his vision and cutting off his audials. When sense returned a second later, Nightlight’s voice was shaking but his hands were steady. “-oing to plug in for a diagnostic, please say something if you can hear me-”

“Something,” he wheezed, and Nightlight made a cut-off noise as though Rodimus had punched him instead.

“Oh good,” Nightlight managed, something almost like a laugh making it into his voice. “I don’t need to worry about checking your processor if you’re feeling snarky.”

Rodimus was startled into a laugh that quickly became a groan, and Nightlight’s optics sharpened in worry again. “Hold still - it looks as though you’ve dented your back badly enough that it’s going to be very uncomfortable walking, but I want to make sure there’s nothing compressed or cut through before you try getting up.”

“Basic repair,” Starscream sneered, hovering close enough behind Nightlight’s shoulder that the other Vosian’s lips thinned and his plating clamped down tight. “That’s a new skill.”

“A necessary one,” Nightlight bit out, but despite his new closed-off tone his hands were as light and careful as First Aid’s when he opened up the panel on Rodimus’ arm and plugged into the medical port. His optics dimmed, a faint frown of concentration pulling the tension in his face into sharp relief, and Rodimus tried not to tense himself as an unfamiliar presence gently ran a diagnostic program that read differently to anything he’d encountered before. Nightlight’s optics flickered briefly before he came back to himself, giving Rodimus a reassuring smile that he couldn’t quite trust until Nightlight had unplugged and closed his diagnostic panel with the same care.

“Your medics won’t be very happy when we get back to Iacon, but you’ve not done any damage that could put you in danger before we get you back there,” he said. “But - your antigravs were never activated fully. Did- did no-one do that for you?”

Rodimus blinked slowly, his processor taking its own sweet time understanding that. “...I don’t have antigravs,” he said.

Nightlight looked as bewildered as Rodimus felt. “Of course you do,” he protested, “even if you’re a grounder you’re still a Vosian. You were born with antigravs.”

“I must take after my sparker,” Rodimus pointed out, and Nightlight winced again. “Has anyone been able to raise the others over comms?”

“I can’t,” Nightlight admitted as behind him Starscream only shrugged. “There’s some kind of interference, I think we’re just too deep.”

Frowning, Rodimus tested his own comm and got back only static. Either they _were_ too deep - and Nightlight was telling the truth - or they’d been knocked offline when he fell. Or, well, when he’d _stopped_ falling, technically.

“Well,” he sighed, “then our only option is to go up and look for help. Can you fly, Nightlight?”

“I’m not leaving you.” Nightlight’s optics were fierce. “Don’t ask me to.”

Rodimus wisely chose not to argue. “Starscream?”

“I’m not your errand boy, Prime.”

Rodimus huffed, and blinked when the sound was echoed by Nightlight’s vents. “Fine. Just help me up.”

It took a lot of swearing and one moment when Rodimus thought his spinal strut would be wrenched out of his back, but in the end he was on his pedes again, venting hard while Nightlight held him up. “That sucked,” he commented, pain harshing his vocalizer.

“I’m so sorry, sweetspark,” Nightlight said. “I should have rigged a stretcher-”

“You couldn’t have carried it by yourself.” Rodimus steeled himself against a trek he knew wouldn’t be a pleasant one. “Let’s just go. Find a way _up,_ where our comms will work. That’s all we can do.”

“All right.” Nightlight shifted under Rodimus’s arm, and Rodimus gratefully leaned on him, optics dim. Like it or not, his life was in Nightlight’s hands now. And Starscream’s, if he chose to make himself useful - which was a fifty-fifty chance on the best day, but then he’d been behaving himself remarkably well since Prowl had almost left him in a tank Starscream couldn’t just ghost out of.

Rodimus huffed, then determinedly took his first step forward - too much, too far, and he almost overbalanced. Nightlight threw his weight under and back, pulling him upright through sheer leverage, and a strangled yell forced its way through Rodimus’ vocaliser as his struts all screamed in protest.

“Okay,” he huffed. “Maybe - tiny bit slower.”

“Baby steps,” Nightlight murmured, and though Starscream shot a sharp look his way the other Vosian gave Rodimus a crooked smile.

“Sure,” Rodimus agreed, and this time their shuffling start went without a hitch.

Starscream, it seemed, had decided to help out in his own inimitable fashion. He agreed to scout ahead for the two land-bound mechs, but only far enough ahead that they could still hear him, and the stream of commentary and complaining was beginning to make Rodimus’ jaw clench and his fists curl. 

“You know,” he huffed during the brief hobble between their many rest breaks, “you could always just tell us what’s coming up instead of complaining about it.”

Starscream snorted and folded his arms, glaring at- well, more at Nightlight that at Rodimus, come to that. “But then how would you know what to listen out for? I know _one_ of you has an ounce of sense, but you’re not the one driving right now, are you?”

Under Rodimus’ shoulder Nightlight cut his vents and clamped his jaw shut, optics fixed on a point past Starscream’s wing and aiming for the end of that long, long corridor as though it were the be-all and end-all of the universe. He hadn’t responded to a single one of Starscream’s snide little comments on the long stretch of broken hallways, had barely spoken to Starscream at all since his initial outburst as Rodimus had woken up.

Which, of course, just made Starscream seethe even more. Rodimus imagined he could see Starscream’s Angry Meter slowly ticking up. If they didn’t get out of here soon, there would be Explosions, and then Nightlight really would leave.

_Is that a good thing? A bad thing? I don’t know anymore._

Nightlight was warm and solid under his arm; Rodimus tried to focus on that. “Do you recognize where we are?” he asked, as a distraction from forcing his legs to move.

Nightlight glanced up. “Residential area, I think. For the - and I hate that I’m saying this - lower strata of society. Labourers, servers and the like.”

“Yeah, it does sound awfully snooty.” Rodimus kept his voice carefully neutral, even faintly cheerful.

Nightlight took the opportunity to save face with a laugh. “Oh, it _is_ terribly snooty! And a terrible shame, some of the kindest mechs I knew were lower-income. Smartest, too,” he added, and Starscream snorted loudly from ahead of them. “I had to come down to these levels to get your sparkling checkups done in peace,” Nightlight went on lightly, as if he hadn’t heard. “You used to run up and down these hallways saying hello to everybody, it was adorable. And jump off balconies into my arms.”

“And now you know how little Vosians learn to fly,” Starscream called back with an audible smirk. “Although there’s more _tossing_ than jumping involved.”

Nightlight sucked in a horrified vent even before Rodimus turned a Look to him. “Don’t you _dare,_ ” he choked out, lunging forward and catching hold of Rodimus’ arm - not to try and persuade him, to Rodimus’ confusion. Putting himself between Rodimus and _Starscream,_ as though the ghostly Seeker could try anything now. “Don’t you _dare_ joke about that, you have no right! You _know_ he only had sparkling-level programming active then!”

Rodimus’s optics flicked up to Starscream, wondering what ‘then’ meant and whether Starscream would explain Nightlight’s outburst if he asked. “...so, wait. I really did use to have antigravs?”

“You did,” Nightlight confirmed, sounding like he was swallowing back static as Starscream glowered. “You should still have them, they just haven’t been given the activation key.”

“Wow.” Rodimus thought that over for the next few painful steps, then peered sidelong at Nightlight. “So - if I used to have them, and I used to use them, then why-?”

“Why do they not work now?” Nightlight waited for Rodimus to nod, giving him an almost cautious little smile - it was the most vocal the Vosian had been for a while, the past click notwithstanding. “Well, it’s one thing to have a little sparkling puttering about on low-level antigravs - if you’d had full power, full-frame strength flight, you- you could have shot right up into orbit before we could catch you.” Nightlight gave him another smile, a wobbly one that didn’t last long or settle well. “That was just another way to mark how our sparklings were getting older and more developed, when it was time to open up a little more strength and speed for their antigravs. Yours, though-” His smile wobbled again, and Nightlight ran a cycle of his vents before carrying on. “Yours were still on the second-lowest settings when none of us were there to activate the next few for you anymore, so I imagine you still have sparkling-level antigravs working but unable to get any lift.”

“Now I really wish I’d never got the Prime upgrades,” Rodimus muttered, hearing Starscream snort derisively in the background. Nightlight ignored him again, cycling his vents again instead.

“I could do it for you,” he offered, his voice tentative all over again. “If you wanted. But only after the medics look you over! I don’t want to think about what lifting off might do to your back right now.”

“Of course you don’t,” Starscream sneered, just loud enough for Nightlight to hear it and stiffen. “That always was how you dealt with things you didn’t want to face, after all. Some things never change.”

Nightlight’s wings quivered, his optics flickering, then he seemed to brace himself all over again to help Rodimus forward down the never-ending hallway, lips pressed tightly together.

*

The first sign that there might be an end to the maze of dark hallways came when the twisted ceiling overhead lifted away, the hall leading into a room that might once have been round and faceted; that it was enclosed and reinforced by its unusual structure was likely the reason it was as intact as it was, compared to the buckled and rumpled residential halls beyond.

Nightlight lit up at the sight and eased Rodimus through the doorway, the door itself broken off long ago and lying just outside the room. “I remember this,” he said softly, glancing around with soft optics. “I used to bring you here sometimes, when we could get away from the tower.”

“What is it?” Rodimus’s voice was hushed.

“It was a planetarium.” Nightlight’s smile quavered on his lips. “There would be docents explaining how stars and planets worked, and you loved to listen to them and watch the holograms of comets go by.”

The dark ceiling overhead suddenly brightened with half-remembered images, and Rodimus gripped Nightlight’s shoulder as he struggled to stay steady. “Oh,” Nightlight squeaked, and backed them up so that Rodimus could lean against the wall and rest there while another hazy, half-corrupted memory integrated.

“No more trips down memory lane,” he gasped out, pain zinging up and down his back. “Please no more. Not until I get my hands on some pain patches.”

“I’m sorry,” Nightlight whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry, sweetspark… I feel so helpless. You’re in pain and I can’t do anything.”

Rodimus struggled to smile. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

“...that doesn’t actually help.”

He was right, it didn’t, but Rodimus couldn’t help but laugh at Nightlight’s reproving look. “Sorry. Is there anything that would help?”

Nightlight actually thought about it. “...I could sing to you?”

“I meant help _you._ ”

That finally got a smile. “But it would make you feel better, which would make _me_ feel better. That’s logic.”

“Oh, well, if it’s logic.” Rodimus giggled, but quieted down when Nightlight leaned against his shoulder and hummed low and soft.

_“As the stars dance in their turns, little one,”_ he half-whispered, stroking the scuffed and dented plating on Rodimus’s arm. _“How they must think it queer - that I hold a star in my arms, little one, that a star like you is here.”_

Rodimus shuttered his optics, relaxing into the sound of Nightlight’s voice. This time when the memory of this song and this voice returned to him, it wasn’t accompanied by that unbalancing sense of shifting reality but with a strange certainty that _this was right._ This was familiar, this was right and true, and more than anything this memory felt _safe._

“You sang that to me a lot,” he murmured muzzily when Nightlight fell silent, “didn’t you? Not just when we came here?”

Nightlight’s smile was like a small star in the dimly-lit room, the deep blue of his optics glittering too-bright when he blinked. “That’s right. You were such a wiggly little thing, you never wanted to settle down to recharge without a story or a song no matter how much running around you’d done - you’d cuddle up and give me those big blue optics and say ‘Sing me, Carrier-’” His vocaliser caught, and Rodimus felt his own vents catch in sympathy.

“Oh, please,” came a sneering voice, and Rodimus actually startled. Somehow he’d forgotten about Starscream and the ghost clearly knew it, glaring at him and deliberately looking right through Nightlight as though he wasn’t even there. “This is all sickeningly charming, but _some of us_ need a medic more than they need any more twee bedtime stories!”

This time Rodimus actually felt the shudder running through Nightlight’s frame, close enough to see how his optics dimmed a little and the nauseous roil of his energy field. But he said nothing, only the subtle ripple of his plating clamping down giving away - what? Stress, defensiveness - Rodimus wasn’t at all sure he could tell anymore. He tentatively tried to peek at the carrier bond, but all he could feel was something heavy and smothering that made him back away in a hurry and blink around the room for something else to focus on.

“Yeah, well, _this_ someone was glad of the break,” he retorted, and hauled himself forward a step - Nightlight stumbled forwards with him, distracted by something or just miles away in his own helm like Rodimus had been. Whatever their reasons, Vosian and Autobot hobbled across the battered planetarium without looking back.

“...I hope that part gets fixed someday,” Rodimus said softly, not really expecting anyone to hear him.

The plating under his arm shivered slightly. “I do too,” came Nightlight’s soft reply.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nightlight _finally_ gives Starscream a piece of his motherfragging mind.

They kept moving. The hallways led to a central transport hub that still had a few empty, broken shuttles in the bays, and - Nightlight muffled a cry in his fist when he saw - a full shuttle, crushed by rubble, grayed bodies still visible in the viewports. Rodimus quietly steered Nightlight away from that.

“It’s more open here,” he observed. “Think we could try and get a signal?”

“It’s worth a try,” Nightlight responded hopefully. His optics dimmed as he accessed his comm; Rodimus tried not to get his hopes up, and realized he’d failed completely when Nightlight shook his head. “Nothing. How about you?”

Rodimus pushed all the resources he could into boosting his signal. _//Can anyone hear me?//_

Static, hissing at him like Starscream in a snit, then - _//-okay, R- -s?//_

“Arcee!” he exclaimed out loud. _//Arcee! I’m injured, but not critically. Nightlight is with me. We’re in the transport hub.//_ He heard Arcee try to reply, but the static was so thick he couldn’t make her words out. _//I can’t hear you,//_ he told her. _//We’re going to stand by here. Repeat, standing by in the transport hub. The Vosians should know where it is.//_

_//- - n- - sk - - - - -//_

“She’s breaking up,” Rodimus told Nightlight. “I don’t think she heard me say where we are.”

“Even if she did, it’ll take time for them to make their way here,” Nightlight answered. “And you need another break. You look ready to fall over.”

“No, if I stop I’m not sure I’ll be able to start again,” Rodimus protested, but he let Nightlight guide him to a counter that was intact enough to take his weight. “Ugh. My Primacy for a shuttle.”

“Do you know any shuttles?” Nightlight rubbed his shoulder, amused despite the situation.

“A few. Skyfire - don’t know if you remember him-” Nightlight startled, optics widening, so clearly he did - “He’s still alive, but he’s on one of his long-distance surveying missions. Octane would give us a lift if I paid him - he’s a former Decepticon, or, well, a Decepticon who’s not following the current leader, which amounts to the same thing, I guess. Sky Lynx is on Earth, Centauri doesn’t do that kind of work - heh. He’s fun, though. Remind me and I’ll take you to Sunset House sometime so you can meet him.”

“I’d love to meet your friends,” Nightlight exclaimed, with such warmth and enthusiasm that Rodimus felt a little guilty without knowing why. The older mech’s joy was almost painful, at least until Rodimus realised that part of the discomfort came from Starscream radiating cold like daggers in Nightlight’s direction.

“Because we both know how you make friends,” the ghost snorted. “You don’t find your own, you can only leech from other people.”

“You didn’t have any friends for me to take,” Nightlight snapped back, visibly shocking them both, then instantly took a deep invent of the dusty, stale air and stood again. “I’m going to look for anything we could use to boost our comm signals,” he said to no-one in particular, and headed off in what looked like an entirely random direction at a fast pace. Rodimus watched him go with a pang, then twisted as much as he could to glare up at Starscream.

“Knock it off!” he hissed, as much authority as he could muster forced into his voice. “You are not helping!”

“I’m not trying to help _him,_ I’m _trying_ to get out of here with you intact and not dropped down a lift shaft somewhere!” Starscream bit back. “Obviously you’re more damaged than I thought if you’re falling for some sad optics and cliche stories of happy baby games!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have many of those!” Rodimus paused, a faint prickle of unease curling into his tone. “And if you’re so concerned, where were you in all those ‘happy baby games’ stories? I’m not sure how much room you have to talk if you were happy leaving poor sweet little me in my evil carrier’s clutches and you knew all about it.”

Starscream huffed, folding his arms and glaring right back. “I already told you he kept himself apart. Didn’t his gold boyfriend back there tell you as much? Of course, he wouldn’t have said just _why_ he did it-”

“Because I came out a grounder.”

“Because Nightlight was a seditious little manipulator with his optic on the heir-presumptive position but he didn’t have the bearings to try for it,” Starscream spat, “and if you believe a word otherwise you’re even more of a fool than I took you for in the first place!”

“...nice to have that straightened out,” Rodimus replied, but the warmth from talking to Nightlight had turned to a numb chill that reached right down to his spark. He glanced back in the direction his carrier had gone, eventually spotting him kneeling beside what looked like a battered storage crate - he seemed distracted by whatever it was he’d found, and Rodimus took a few seconds to himself to wish hard that Kup was here.

_Think it through,_ the old-timer would have told him. _Separate what you know from what you only think you know._

_...okay. So what do I know?_

Not a whole slag of a lot, to be honest. Rodimus put his head in his hands, aching and weary and very, very confused. _If I just knew why Nightlight didn’t take me with him!_ he complained inside his head. _Everything else would make sense._ ...wishful thinking. Rodimus shook his head slowly, trying to banish the entirely illogical certainty.

“Oh, what’s he doing _now?_ ”

Despite himself, Rodimus glanced up. Then he followed the line of Starscream’s glare to Nightlight. His carrier had apparently abandoned the storage crate, and was standing stock-still, staring into the crumpled shuttle bays.

“Nightlight?” he called. “Everything okay?”

Nightlight’s wings twitched, his posture hunched, but he didn’t answer. Worry zinged through Rodimus, and he forced his dented body to straighten. “Don’t be a fool!” Starscream hissed, but Rodimus ignored him.

Nightlight had his hand pressed to his mouth when Rodimus reached him. “Nightlight?” he asked, reaching out tentatively to touch his arm.

Nightlight startled and turned to him - his optics were glimmering wetly again. “Oh, no,” he protested, “sweetspark, your poor back-”

“Never mind my back.” ...it actually hurt a lot. “What’s wrong?”

Nightlight turned away from him uncertainly, and Rodimus had just about steeled himself to not let his carrier get away without answering this question when Nightlight gestured shakily to the crushed shuttle that was still full of the bodies of the dead. “I - that shuttle. It belongs - belonged to the Winglord’s eirie.”

“Your family?” Rodimus took another, closer look at the shuttle, but it was so shrouded in gray dust that he couldn’t see any markings other than faint shadows of red and blue paint blurred in illegibility.

Nightlight nodded. “It - it doesn’t look like anyone would have been able to get out. Does it?”

“We can’t say that for sure,” Rodimus protested, but Nightlight’s face twisted and Rodimus regretted the comforting lie immediately. “...no, it doesn’t.” Nightlight nodded again and this time pressed both hands to his mouth. “Do you want to be alone?” Rodimus asked.

“N-no,” Nightlight hiccupped. “Please.” One hand reached out blindly for him and Rodimus let his carrier gather him up, feeling the silent gasping sobs pressed into his plating as shockwaves instead of sound. Nightlight kept his fingers curled into his palms, kept his hands away from any of Rodimus’ hurts, kept the pressure around Rodimus’ frame gentle, and it still hurt.

Eventually Nightlight pulled away a little, head down, stroking his hands over Rodimus’ plating and wiping at the trails of cleanser streaking down through the dust they were both covered in. It didn’t make much difference but it seemed to make him feel a little better.

“I know it’s stupid,” he said softly, tracing the flames painted over Rodimus’ plating. “They weren’t - they weren’t very nice people, and I’m sorry to say it and _mean_ it, but - nobody deserves to die like that.”

Starscream made a disgusted noise from somewhere over Rodimus’ shoulder, but this time Rodimus twisted a hand around as best he could and flapped it at Starscream behind his back. It didn’t help. Nightlight’s mouth tightened again, reminding Rodimus - suddenly, sharply enough to make him stare - of Ultra Magnus biting back the urge to say something less than diplomatic. It had taken him a long time to recognise that, too.

“At least we found it,” Nightlight said a moment later, when he had himself a little more under control; tears still glittered at the edges of his optics here and there, but he rubbed at his face and over his optics with a feeling of finality about the gesture. Rodimus bit back his smile at the streaks of muddy dust that left behind when he overheard Starscream snickering, unkindly and loud enough for Nightlight to have heard - the other Vosian took a shuddering vent in and squared his shoulders, clearly bracing himself to keep going, and gave Rodimus a tired, pale-opticked smile. “At least we found them. The Winglord can make sure all of the honours are take care of for them, whoever the Winglord is now.”

Rodimus felt more than heard Starscream let out a strangled noise; the world seemed to slow to a halt around him, the earlier sense of unreality lurking just behind his shoulder even as his sensors sharpened to battle-clarity. “What do you mean, whoever?” he asked slowly. “ _You’re_ Winglord, aren’t you?”

Nightlight smiled, that same tired little smile that suddenly had Rodimus’ tank clenching. “Only of our colony. Someone had to look after things, and - well, I was the only one from the Winglord’s eirie there. I wasn’t really very good at it, even with Thunder and ‘Dance helping me. It’s been - peaceful, not having anyone else from the eirie around, but they’re going to find out we’re here eventually. I’m certainly not the Winglord Oversoaring!” The brief, unsteady laugh that followed faded out in the silence, Nightlight’s optics darting over Rodimus’ face and gradually turning pale. “...what?” he whispered, plating clamping down on his frame again at what he saw there. “What is it?”

_I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bring him back to life so I can kill him._ Rodimus took a few deep vents, keeping his optics well away from Starscream. “Nightlight… if that’s your family, in that shuttle? Then there’s nobody else left of the Winglord eirie. Starscream was the last claimant to the title.”

He kept his optics on Nightlight’s face as he spoke, searching for any trace of triumph, any flicker of happiness at the news. What he saw was the dawning of a confused tangle of emotions that were all too familiar to him - the same tangle he’d felt when he’d realized that bearing the Matrix meant everyone was looking to _him_ to lead. Nightlight looked ready to purge his tanks.

“I,” he protested weakly. “I can’t possibly - are you _sure?_ No Vosians of Winglord rank? _Anywhere?_ ” Rodimus shook his head and Nightlight wobbled, for once not seeming to notice how much weight he was putting on Rodimus. “That - oh no. I need to sit.”

He turned, and Starscream was _there,_ rolling his optics in the kind of finely-wrought fury that only he was capable of. Nightlight stiffened, his hand tightening on Rodimus’s arm.

“What a fine display of modesty,” the ghost sneered. “Come, now, you have what you’ve always wanted, and you didn’t even have to do anything after all! Vos is yours, in all its riches and its glory.” A sweeping gesture took in the ruin of the transport hub. “Let’s have a cheer! The Winglord is dead; all hail the Winglord Oversoaring!”

“Starscream-”

_”Shut up.”_

For once in his life, Starscream actually paused mid-theatrics. Nightlight’s face was drawn, his optics pale, and Rodimus could feel him trembling; he looked like a mech who had reached the bottom of what reserves he had left, but the surprise flickering there-and-gone in Starscream’s expression was for the rising wave of absolute fury whipping Nightlight’s devastated, barren energy field into a storm.

“For once in your rotten scheming life, _shut up_ and try to at least pretend you’re sorry at something!” Nightlight snapped, the electrical storm rising through him straightening his back and snapping his wings high and wide. “Our family is _dead!”_

“Newsflash, tender-spark,” Starscream sneered back, folding his arms and pretending unconcern. “The only one who _apparently_ didn’t know that is you. What _perfect_ timing for a Winglord to emerge, with your youngling made Prime-”

“ _I NEVER WANTED TO BE WINGLORD!”_

Nightlight’s roar echoed around the transport hub, echoing from the rafters and actually making Starscream flinch. The other Vosian took a step forward, shaking with frustration and the force of the words boiling up from under millions of years of silence. “I never wanted to be Winglord, I never wanted to be part of your nasty backstabbing games, I never wanted you anywhere _near_ me or my family - all I ever wanted was for you to _leave me alone!_ Everywhere I went, everything I ever did, you always had to try and take it away from me or do it better or make me look _stupid, all_ of you _always_ tried to make me look stupid, you tore my cloaks and stole my datapads and deleted my messages- I had to find my own family, I had to get _exiled_ from the _eirie_ to get away from all of you!”

Starscream choked on a froth of furious incoherence, his optics flashing, hands curling into strangling claws as he dove to slash at Nightlight’s face; Rodimus instinctively moved to protect the smaller Vosian but Nightlight was faster, darting in front of his youngling with his arms shielding his face and his expression grim and set. As though he’d done it before.

Starscream’s hands passed through Nightlight’s arms, uselessly, powerlessly. “You-!” Starscream exploded, as though it were Nightlight’s fault he was a frameless spark. “You’re so full of slag! You come sweeping back to Cybertron after waiting out the war on your nice safe colony ship, you’re ruining _everything_ and you have the bearings to act like a victim!”

_”You_ have the bearings to accuse me of ruining anything while _standing in the ruins of our city!_ You have the bearings to accuse me of hiding in front of the gray shells of the Winglords! I kept thirty-seven little ones from sharing their fate or worse-”

“ ‘Worse’, you mean like the poor little sparkling you left for dead as the bombs dropped on Vos?”

_”Don’t you dare!”_ Nightlight’s voice hit a note of desperate fury before cracking like a glass vessel. “Don’t you dare open your mouth about that, Starscream, you don’t have the right! My spark _died_ when I thought Dash was dead!”

“-wait, what?”

Nightlight stopped on a dime, hand over his mouth; the optics he turned to Rodimus were wide and wet. “Carrier,” Rodimus said, trying not to let his voice shake, “is that why - why I wasn’t on that ship with you? Because you thought I was dead?” Nightlight nodded, once, trembling.

“Don’t listen to him,” Starscream burst out. “He’s _lying!_ I told you-”

Pale optics flashed deep, dangerous blue, and Nightlight turned back to his dead brother. “What _did_ you tell my sparkling, Starscream?” Starscream faltered, and Rodimus’s spark went cold. Nightlight’s voice was eerily steady, optics far too bright - the tears he’d almost shed a moment ago seemed to burn up as his optics blazed. He took a step forward, the heel of his thruster crunching through the dusting of rubble like a gunshot.

“Did you tell him how Ephemeris and Eccentricity would set the younglings in the eirie against each other and _score them for it?_ Or about the time Gravitonne decided there were too many grounders in the central spires and pestered everyone for days about restructuring the entire city as ‘public works’ to make it inaccessible without antigravs? Or when Prominence threw a server out of the window because he came from the ‘wrong’ part of the tower, the one that Prominence had a pointless grudge against that day? Or maybe, maybe you told him about the time you _dangled my flightless sparkling out of a window_ and said you’d _drop him_ if I didn’t tell you who his sire was!”

Starscream had space enough to blurt “I didn’t-!” before Nightlight advanced, face set and optics burning, any fear or restraint gone into the wind as he clenched his hands to fists and his wings rose.

“You think you’re so clever,” Nightlight ground out, nose to nose with the shocked ghost. “You always have a nasty comment and a cruel reply for everything, you’re always thinking just how to get your way - you know what, Starscream? You are the most oblivious mech I have ever met. I never wanted to be Winglord, I never wanted anything but my sparkling and my own home, and you and the rest of our family made that almost impossible. And when I thought-” His voice broke on a hiccup of static, a blink of wetness before it burned away. “I found him again after I thought I had lost him forever. I would have backed away and left him alone if that’s what _he_ wanted, honestly wanted, but _you-!_ You ruin _everything you touch,_ Starscream, and if it didn’t hurt everyone around you too then I would hope you _never_ make it to the Well. I hope you have all of eternity to keep failing at everything you scheme for and _nothing ever changes!”_

Starscream stared at him, stared like he’d never really seen Nightlight before - and maybe he never had. Rodimus kind of knew how he felt, but he was too busy kicking himself to spare much sympathy for the mech.

_Don’t worry, Magnus, I said. I can handle Starscream, I said. I won’t let him jerk me around, I said. Idiot!_

“Now,” Nightlight said, and his voice carried the chill of _deep vacuum,_ “if you have some practical suggestion as to how we can get out of here and get Rodimus into medical care, I’m all audials. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Possibly ever again.”

Starscream opened his mouth to argue. Nightlight lifted a hand, but this time Rodimus beat him to the punch. “Starscream,” he said, and that was the Prime-voice, the one that sometimes even got the Seeker to listen. “Please don’t make this any worse.”

Starscream glared poison at him, but all he said was “Suit yourself, Prime.” Rodimus relaxed, let Nightlight squeeze his gauntlet as he turned away. He saw Starscream’s gaze flick from him to Nightlight’s back.

The next moment he’d hauled Nightlight off his pedes and to the ground, and his back was screaming at him, and Starscream was pulling out of his impulsive stoop to loop around for another try. “What’s-” Nightlight gasped.

“Stay down. He can possess people.” Rodimus put himself between Nightlight and Starscream again, ruthlessly shoved his pain to one side, and did the only thing he could think to do: call a friend with experience in this kind of thing.

His chestplates parted. Starscream stalled in the air, confused and alarmed, as the dusty ruin was filled with spears of Matrixlight. Rodimus reached - not into it, but _through_ it, calling voicelessly for the only being on Cybertron who shared a similar connection to the sleeping Primus. He smiled as the call was answered, _warmth_ and _affection_ mingling with _worry._

_I’m fine,_ he told the presence. _Don’t worry about me._

_Nonsense. You’re my friend; I’m always going to worry about you._ At the end of Rodimus’s outstretched hand, a gleam of golden light coalesced into a crowned Praxian marked over with relief maps of the Cybertronian city-states. “Why didn’t you call me earlier?” Prowl asked.

Rodimus shrugged, and immediately regretted it as his back protested. “I wasn’t sure I could.”

There was a cut-off curse and a quickly retreating flicker, crimson and blue vanishing in the white-gold light Prowl glowed with; Prowl’s optics narrowed to slits of white, faint crackles of lightning curling from the corners. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he told Rodimus firmly, then he kicked off against the floor and disappeared into a spectrum Rodimus couldn’t see. Rodimus breathed a soft sigh of relief, then let his head droop as far as he could without pain.

“So, uh - I don’t really know if I can get up again without some help.”

Nightlight was very quiet as he wriggled out from under Rodimus, scooting onto his knees before helping Rodimus into a position that he could sit in for a while without it hurting too badly. His hands were careful but they didn’t linger long, except for one hesitation after Rodimus was finally stable and settled.

“What?” Rodimus asked, a little hoarse himself; Nightlight’s optics tightened, then he leaned forward and rested his hand so very lightly against Rodimus’ cheek. Rodimus didn’t startle, it was so gentle and Nightlight had taken such care not to surprise him with the touch, but his optics dimmed without his say-so and his vents eased. That _had_ crept up on him.

“Are you sure we’re not dead?” Nightlight said softly, hand stroking his cheek ever so slightly. “Because I’m still not sure.”

That did make Rodimus flinch slightly, his optics flicking back to stunned bright awareness; that Nightlight was smiling faintly, rueful and not exactly happy, didn’t do much for him. “What? Why?”

“Well, you’re here. And I think I just managed to tell Starscream off. And, well, you did just pull what looked an awful lot like some kind of messenger from Primus out of your own spark, so it’s a little difficult for me to tell right now.”

Rodimus stared, optical lenses irising in and out, then hilarity surged and he let out an undignified snort of laughter. By the time Prowl returned a scant few moments later, he and Nightlight were both giggling, propping each other up as Nightlight petted Rodimus’ face and helm in unrestrained wonder.

“I see things seem to have settled down a little,” Prowl said drily, and Rodimus gave him a grin that was a little crazed around the edges.

“You would not believe the week I’m having,” he told Prowl solemnly, and to Nightlight’s visible surprise the glowing Praxian chuckled. “Oh, manners, right - Prowl, this is my carrier. He’s kind of technically the Winglord of Vos, but we’re not talking about that right now. Nightlight, this is Prowl. He’s kind of one of my unofficial uncles and the last psychopomp we’ve got. He plays Ghostbuster for me when Starscream gets…”

“Cranky?” Prowl supplied, tucking a familiar - and now occupied - tank under his arm, and Rodimus giggled again.

“Yep!”

Nightlight looked utterly baffled. “You’re a psychopomp?”

Still smiling, Prowl inclined his head. “I am guide and guardian to Cybertron’s sparks. My role has - expanded a little, these days. Speaking of which,” he added, turning to Rodimus with a decidedly more serious air, “what _have_ you done to yourself, Roddy?”

“I fell down a hole,” Rodimus answered flatly.

“I tried to catch him-” Nightlight started guiltily.

“...but my aft is too heavy after the Prime upgrade and I wound up just dragging him down with me.” Rodimus shrugged. “Kup and them should still be wandering around. Think you can find them and tell them where we are? Our comms aren’t too useful down here.”

“Of course.” Prowl nodded, tucking the sparkeater-tank more securely under his arm. “Are you going to be all right until they find a way down here? It doesn’t seem terribly stable.”

“Tell me about it,” was the dry response. “I’ll be fine. We’re in the bottom level so even if I do find another hole, I won’t have far to fall, right?”

Nightlight made a muffled noise halfway between outrage and horror; Prowl, used to the young Prime’s gallows humor, shook his head fondly and tapped Rodimus on the helm. “No falling. Falling is forbidden.”

“Yes, absolutely forbidden!” Nightlight scolded. “You frightened me half to death the first time!”

“...um.”

Rodimus turned to Prowl for help, knowing it was futile and he was outnumbered. Prowl confirmed his suspicion with a smile in Nightlight’s direction. “With that settled, I’ll go and find Kup.”

He rose up into the air, smoothly as if he were on antigravs. Nightlight watched him until he disappeared through the ceiling, still visibly baffled.

Silence settled around them like dust. It occurred to them both that this was the first chance they’d had to be alone together. There was so much to ask, so much to say, that it overwhelmed them both, leaving them grasping uselessly for words.

Rodimus was the first to break the silence. “So,” he began with a harsh sigh, “I’m an idiot.”

“Oh, sweetspark, no,” Nightlight protested, a hand lifting just a little and his fingers curling with visible want-to-touch. Rodimus shook his head.

“I should know better than to listen to Starscream.” Then he paused, realised that Nightlight had taken the gesture as a dismissal and had let his hand fall back to his lap. “I just - I don’t really know how to do this. Um. ...why did you really come back to Cybertron? Why now?”

Nightlight sighed softly, wings drooping as he slumped. He looked exhausted, Rodimus realised. “Really, because news finally reached us that the war was over. You saw a little yourself of how Shimmersea was having trouble moving - she was caught by falling debris when we were running for the ship. It - did a lot of damage to her back and wings that we never managed to repair, and it’s not easy trying to find a medic of any sort away from the flight lines and warships...although those died away when the younglings were still comparatively small, but that just made us more worried. I - I didn’t dare risk going back, and - well. When we left...it looked like the end of the world. We thought that all we’d find would be an asteroid field where Cybertron had been.” He looked worn down and guilty, carrying his little colony’s worries around like Rodimus did for his Autobots, and Rodimus only wobbled briefly before reaching out to rest a hand on Nightlight’s gauntlet. He only realised as Nightlight cautiously brightened that it was the first time he’d offered his carrier comfort, instead of Nightlight reaching out to him first.

“You really would have backed up if I didn’t want to talk to you?” he couldn’t help asking, then immediately felt guilty for it at the pain Nightlight tried to hide.

“Of course I would. It - it would have been incredibly hard, but if it meant you were happy…” Nightlight gave him an unsteady smile. “You were alive. That was so much more than I could have hoped for.”

“For the longest time I thought my creators didn’t want me at all.” Rodimus flinched inwardly at the sparkbroken look Nightlight gave him. “It was only when Serif came to me at the Trek of the Awoken two orn ago that I even knew you or he existed, or that you wanted me.”

“Serif…” Nightlight smiled mistily. “He promised that he’d look out for you if something happened to me.”

“He kept that promise.” Rodimus glanced down to his hand on Nightlight’s gauntlet. “Nightlight? Will you tell me what happened - the day Vos was bombed? You said you thought I was dead…”

Nightlight was silent for a long moment, optics flickering as he gathered his thoughts. “I’d left you in the care of one of the family’s guards - even in exile I was assigned a watch, but this one had been a friend and I trusted hir with you. I was out with - well, back then we all called it our carriers-and-sparklings club, friends I’d met at the sparkling-care wing of the hospital mostly. We were finalizing the sale of a refurbished research vessel - we were going to move to Praxus, but after Praxus fell we decided to leave Cybertron altogether. We were at the shipyard with the final payment when the bombs started falling.”

Rodimus shuddered, able to picture it all too well from what he’d seen of the ruin of Vos and the bleak look on Nightlight’s face. “We’d never flown so fast,” he said, turning his hand over to grasp Rodimus’s. “Trying to gather up the rest of our group and our little ones, get them to the ship so we could get _out_ \- they started the bombing at Solus, the industry and manufacturing spire, so I thought they would leave Highcrest be. I thought I had time.” He looked up, guilt and grief pulling at his face. “I was in the air when they hit the east side of the spire. I saw our tower collapse.”

“Primus,” Rodimus whispered, his hand tightening on Nightlight’s.

“The guard - Safeguard - ei must have gotten you out, but - oh, I don’t know.” Nightlight shook his head, curling in on himself and leaning on Rodimus’s shoulder. “I never got a comm from hir, so I assumed ei was dead too. After that we withdrew as far as we safely could from Cybertron, and I had - I had to take command. While we were all still grieving.”

“And so you became a colony,” Rodimus murmured. “I’m sorry. I wish I could remember how I survived.” At Nightlight’s worried glance, he shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m told they found me wandering around alone somewhere. My earliest memories are pretty scrambled; I must have hit my head at some point. The earliest memory I have is of Kup teaching me how he cleaned his rifle.”

“Kup? Your security director?”

“Before that, he was my guardian.” Rodimus chuckled. “If you ask him, he’ll probably tell you a million stories about what a pain in the aft I was.”

“I’ll do that.” Nightlight gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I owe him a great debt of gratitude for taking care of you.”


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which carrier and youngling finally begin to bond.

“I have something of yours, actually,” Nightlight said, squeezing Rodimus’ hand gently before rummaging in his subspace. They had been sitting in the dusty ruin of the Highcrest transport hub for long enough that Nightlight had ventured as far as cuddling carefully into Rodimus’ side, both of them still working out just what was and wasn’t comfortable for them both even without Rodimus’ injuries to worry about. Prowl had returned briefly to let them know that the Vosian-Autobot group was working its way down the tower and were varying levels of frantic; his appearance hadn’t done much to calm the Vosians down, but he had patiently passed on everything he could about Rodimus’ status to Kup and reassured the Vosians that Nightlight was absolutely fine in turn.

Nightlight was definitely not fine with sitting anywhere near the half-buried shuttle containing the bodies of many of the Winglord’s eirie, but he was coping with that as best he could.

It would take their respective people some time to find them and figure out just how to get them out, since the transport hub doors had either been sealed when the bombs hit or had been blocked by rubble or the shuttles that were supposed to have been docked there. With the first bit of relative privacy they had had since the _Wandering Star_ colony ship had docked in Iacon, and Prowl’s repeated assurances that Starscream was firmly in hand before he’d tactfully left again, carrier and youngling were making the best of things.

Nightlight combed through his subspace carefully, then smiled when he found whatever it was he’d been looking for; Rodimus leaned forward curiously, then hissed as his back registered its long list of complaints at that idea.

“I had a few of your toys in my subspace when- when we had to leave,” he said, an old flicker of guilt visibly flaring up. “We didn’t have time to take much, so I let the other little ones play with them, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, it really is.” Rodimus shyly leaned ever so slightly against Nightlight, and got a shaky smile in return.

“Well, this I would never have passed on to anyone else. I made this when I was waiting for you to unfurl, after you’d decanted and I was recovering.” Nightlight drew out something soft that slipped between his hands like water, tiny loops glittering like fish scales under the Oregon sun. Rodimus sat very still, trying not to invent too loudly. “This… Every Vosian in the Winglord’s eirie had one, made by one of their creators or other. It would have been added onto the family tapestry when you were older, even if our piece of the tapestry was only you and me.” He smiled softly, at a memory or at the shimmering, well-loved little puddle of light, then shook it gently out and laid it across Rodimus’ knees. “You were small enough to wrap up in this, once.”

It was mail, Rodimus saw when he reached out to stroke a fingertip over the tiny mesh. Incredibly fine mail made of a silvery metal he didn’t know, linked together in a style he didn’t recognise, glyphs and patterns woven or forged into the fabric.

“What is it?” he breathed, shifting his knees just to feel the softness of it slip across his plating.

“Steelsilk. One of Vos’ more exclusive exports, if you could afford an artisan’s fees and the tax to ship it out of the city.” Nightlight’s smile was a little crooked, watching Rodimus explore his - his sparkright, Rodimus supposed - but his optics were soft. “Radiant is a silkwright, as a matter of fact. I only really know enough to make tapestry wraps.”

“It’s beautiful.” Rodimus traced his fingertips over the unfamiliar patterns, tried to imagine being small enough to be wrapped up in it. It barely covered his lap. “You kept it all this time?”

“I never could have parted with it.” Nightlight chuckled softly, optics fond and faraway. “Even if at one point you seemed determined to chew on it.”

“Oops.” Rodimus ducked his head, feeling himself starting to grin. “Sorry about that.” He grinned all the way when Nightlight laughed, squeezing his hand.

“Oh, but it was adorable. _You_ were adorable. I have pictures to prove it; I’ll show you when we get back,” he beamed.

Rodimus’s vents skipped. “You have - sparkling pictures.”

 _”So many_ sparkling pictures.”

“Of me?”

“Mm-hm.” Nightight nodded, optics glowing. “Some with the other little ones who decanted before we left. Would you like to see them?”

Rodimus spread his hand over his steelsilk tapestry again. He couldn’t remember ever thinking of himself as anybody’s _little one_ , but suddenly he was so curious about the sparkling he’d been, the person he’d lost when foolish, greedy people destroyed his world for reasons beyond his understanding. “I’d love to,” he said softly, and Nightlight squeezed his hand again.

By the time the Vosian-Autobot contingent reached them, Rodimus had squirmed half into Nightlight’s lap as his back grew more painful. His carrier stroked his helm and, this time, they had the time for him to listen to some of Rodimus’ stories - fishing on Earth with Danny led to explaining Earth and Humans and just what Fish were, and Nightlight quietly apologised all over again for accidentally insulting Danny.

“I’m still so sorry,” he murmured, stroking Rodimus’ cheek. “We had just come through a techno-organic system where they kept little nonsentient animals as pets - therapy animals, they were called, all different kinds of soft fluffy things - I didn’t see he was there and I panicked. I thought I might have hurt him, I certainly never wanted to insult him too.”

“Heh. He knows, don’t worry. ...I’ll tell him over again later just in case. You’ll like his parents - his creators. Spike and _his_ creator were the first humans the Autobots met when they woke up on Earth, they’re used to people not really knowing how to act.”

“I’ll have to learn, if I’m going to be Winglord.” Nightlight gave him a faint, crooked smile, and Rodimus impulsively squeezed his hand.

Then they both jumped as part of one of the distant shuttle ports cracked and buckled, and all at once both Nightlight and Rodimus’ comms both pinged.

_//You all right there, lad?//_

_//Night, can you hear us?//_

_//Are you all right? Are you there?//_

_//We’re here,//_ Nightlight soothed his people, smiling slightly at Rodimus. _//We’re both safe.//_

 _//Be careful,//_ Rodimus added. _//It’s not desperately stable.//_

 _//Uh, yeah, we figured that one out, Rod,//_ Springer answered dryly, and Rodimus chuckled. _//Just hold tight. We brought some help, and we’ll have you out of there in no time.//_

 _//Thanks.//_ Rodimus tilted his head back against Nightlight’s arm. “Sounds like we’re heading home soon.”

“Good,” Nightlight said firmly. “The sooner we get you to the medics, the better. ...and I’d really like to get out of this place,” he added guiltily, glancing in the direction of the Winglord’s shuttle.

“...oh. Yeah, I don’t blame you.” Rodimus winced guiltily. Nightlight put a hand on his helm, stroking gently, and Rodimus let himself be soothed. “Hey, Nightlight? Can I come visit you again after I’m repaired?”

“You’re always welcome, sweetspark.” Nightlight paused as the sounds of excavating tools and voices grew louder. “As long as you don’t mind I’m going to be fussing over you something awful.”

“Sounds good.” Rodimus dimmed his optics. “I probably owe an apology to Thundersong anyway. We’ve kinda been aiming our guns at each other since the colony landed.” At Nightlight’s worried look, Rodimus added, “It was my fault. He was only being protective of you.”

Nightlight didn’t look convinced, but he let it go as a section of outer wall crumbled away, revealing their rescuers. “Hoist!” Rodimus exclaimed, bolting up. “Grapple - ow, ow ow ow that was a bad idea.”

As he sank back down in Nightlight’s lap, wincing, Grapple and Hoist entered, scanning the surrounding walls. “It’s safe for now,” Hoist called back, “but be quick and careful.”

“It’s a good thing this place was built with load-bearing in mind,” Grapple observed as First Aid and Swoop hurried inside past him. “The architects knew what they were doing. Do you think I could be allowed to return and study the structure, Prime?”

Rodimus stifled a grunt of pain as Swoop lifted him into his arms, covering it with a grin. “Don’t know. I’ll ask the Winglord.” He caught Nightlight’s optic and winked. Nightlight’s wings fluttered, caught between confusion and delight.

“Roddy!” Arcee waved from the makeshift doorway, beaming; behind her, Resonance lifted a hand. “You’ll never guess who we found.”

“The original bearer of the Matrix?” Rodimus grinned, and reached out to squeeze her hand as Swoop carried him out. Arcee trotted out behind him, and pointed at the last new member of their party, a large figure staying well back from the less-than-stable architecture.

“Skyfire!” Rodimus exclaimed. “When’d you get back?”

“Just in time to play taxi for your rescue party,” Skyfire said with a smile - he didn’t look entirely comfortable around the Vosians, who had milled around and then flooded past him without a care, but when Nightlight came into view from behind Swoop he stilled completely. Nightlight didn’t notice at first, distracted from fretting over Rodimus as he was carried out by having to reassure his colonymates that he wasn’t hurt; only after Skydance gave him a firm nudge and a significant nod Skyfire’s way did he look up, deep blue optics widening in surprised pleasure.

“Skyfire - oh goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you - um. You probably don’t remember me…”

“It’s Nightlight, isn’t it?” Skyfire said slowly, and seemed startled when the other flier lit up with obvious delight. “We were never really introduced properly.”

Nightlight grimaced, an expression halfway between apologetic and embarrassed. “No, we weren’t. ...I was always a little worried about just what Starscream had said about me, and I wasn’t exactly welcome in the eirie at the time, so I didn’t want to bother you…I’m glad you’re safe.”

The carefully baffled look Skyfire gave him made Rodimus giggle helplessly, waving his hand in incoherent apology when they both startled. “Sorry! Sorry, just - I know that feel!”

“Oh dear,” Nightlight murmured, hands knotting briefly together as he eased his way back over to Rodimus and Swoop. “Maybe I should be visiting you in the medbay instead.”

“That’d be awesome,” Rodimus hummed contentedly, then sighed in boneless relief as First Aid clicked a pain patch into place. Everything went blurry for a while after that, the sound of Nightlight earnestly telling Skyfire that he thought the shuttle had looked very kind when he’d visited Vos following Rodimus down into the dark.

*

_Memories swirled around him like shards of glittering glass, filled with bright colors and bright voices. He reached out to one of them as it flashed past, plucking it out of the air; it was too bright to make out much, but he thought he could see two hands and a pair of bright blue optics, and a gentle voice calling to him._

“I’m pulling you out of stasis now, Roddy. Time to wake up.”

_He reached out again. This memory showed a shadowed wing, and a pair of red optics sharp as knives. Try as he might, he couldn’t make the second memory fit together with the first. Frustrated, he set the second memory aside and reached out for a third. This one shimmered like water, and when he put it together with the first memory, they clicked together and glowed in his hands._

“...uh, ‘Aid? He’s not booting up.”

“What? Let me see… well, it looks like he’s _trying_ to. Something else keeps interrupting the process.”

 _Now that he had the trick of it, Hot Rod was eager to solve this puzzle. He pulled out more and more shards of memory. Most of them didn’t make any sense; some of them buzzed in his hands like there was something wrong with them or refused to be grasped at all. But enough were cooperative that Hot Rod could - he thought - start to form a picture. He found another shard that sang to him -_ I hold a star in my arms, little one _\- and tried to find where it fit with the others._

“Is he awake yet?”

“Oh! Nightlight. Um… we’re working on it.”

“...is something wrong?”

_The picture of the singer was taking shape, and Hot Rod lingered over it, tracing what outlines he could of a kind face and bright wings. Unattached memories shimmered around it, sparkling like stars - a fragment of conversation, a view from high up, the warmth of an embrace. He wasn’t sure where they fit yet, but he’d figure it out. The singer believed in him, after all._

“...I see. ...maybe I can help.”

“How?”

“Well… my brother and his trinemates weren’t the only ones with Sigma powers. Mine just isn’t useful as a weapon.”

 _He sat in the middle of a slowly-revolving ring of memories, shards that murmured and shone and hummed softly to him; Hot Rod liked those memories, the ones that sang to him and wanted to be near him, the ones that felt kind. He was puzzling over another piece - the loving voice that sang in the other fragments, that in this one was calling_ Dashlet, sweetest _in a way that resonated with the other pieces he’d fitted together but confused him still - when the voice came again. Outside of the memories this time, a dim and distant call that sounded_ worried, _and that voice shouldn’t be worried. Hot Rod knew that down to his spark, that the voice meant_ love _and_ warmth _and_ comfort, _and for the first time he tried peering_ past _the ring system of glittering memories._

_At first it looked as though there was nothing behind the memories, a dim haze that frightened Hot Rod deeply, but as the fear surged and he searched desperately for anything to hold on to the haze shimmered, solidified, drew back into doors and hallways in a shade of golden orange that made something in him relax at once. He was sitting on the floor of the big orange room, his back against something he knew instinctively was a chair, broad and solid and bolted to the floor. That made him feel both safe and dimly guilty, and Hot Rod shook his helm so he could focus on looking past the memories to try and see who was calling him. His spark spun faster, excited and hopeful, and when deep blue optics and bright wings came into view he cried out wordlessly as a sparkling and held out his arms._

_“Oh, sweetbit,” the beloved voice said, and Hot Rod lit up as a glittering flurry of memories spun together and slotted into place._

“Carrier!” _he crowed, triumphant and elated, and warm arms swept him up close as the sparkling shards slotted into a mirror-bright reflection of Nightlight’s face, Nightlight’s smile appearing around a doorway, Nightlight bending over him and laughing softly as he patted at carrier’s cheeks. Hot Rod nestled into Nightlight’s embrace, sighing contentedly as his carrier lifted him into his lap - something about that part niggled at Hot Rod briefly, like a loose gear not quite slotting into place, but he ignored it. Carrier was here, and this felt right._

“Is it working?”

“Shh. We shouldn’t distract Nightlight. ...we won’t know if it’s working until it works, I guess.”

_”What are you doing here, love?” Carrier asked, stroking his cheek._

_“I’m putting together a puzzle.” Hot Rod pointed. “See? It’s got you in it.”_

_“Why, so it does.” Nightlight’s arms tightened around him, protective and sad somehow, and that was another loose-gear-feeling that Hot Rod didn’t like. “Does it have anything else in it?”_

_“Well… yes.” Hot Rod squirmed. “But I don’t like those parts as much. There’s something_ wrong _about them.”_

_“Hmm.” Nightlight glanced over the work Hot Rod had done so far, the few bits around the edges that sang a dissonant, threatening note against the comforting hum of the rest. “Well, those bits are just as much yours as the rest are - you’ll have to deal with them eventually. But not right now - it’s time to clean up and get ready to go out, sweetspark.”_

_“Out where?” Hot Rod asked._

_Nightlight chuckled and ruffled his helm, just to make him smile. “To meet your friends, of course!”_

_Hot Rod lit up. His friends - their faces and names escaped him right now, just out of reach, but the mention of them suffused his spark with warmth. “Okay,” he beamed. “Can you help me clean up, Carrier?”_

_“Of course, my bitlet. Of course.”_

“...think it’s working. Look at this processor activity.”

“Roddy? Roddy!”

Rodimus Prime lit his optics. “Hey,” he murmured, smiling as First Aid clutched his hand. “I’m back.”

“Don’t do that to us!” First Aid scolded, but he squeezed Rodimus’ hand tight before moving to Hoist’s side to fuss with Rodimus’ diagnostics. There were a handful of blinking alerts on Rodimus’ HUD, and a side note that someone was still plugged into his medical port - it wasn’t either of the medics he knew, so who-?

He tilted his head just as Nightlight’s optics lit, deep blue blooming into a warm, sleepy sort of smile. “Hello, sweetest,” he murmured, plating ruffling then relaxing as he released the locks on his joints, and all at once Rodimus’ dream came back to him in a rush.

“You - you helped me with a puzzle,” he said slowly, frowning. The alerts scrolled past on his HUD as Nightlight shook his head, watching Rodimus’ face and moving to unplug from Rodimus’ medical port. “It wasn’t a puzzle..?”

“It was a metaphor, more or less,” his carrier said gently, folding his hands in his lap and perching carefully on the edge of Rodimus’ medical berth out of First Aid’s way. The young medic was listening in and Nightlight didn’t seem to mind - just what had he missed? “You passed out for the shuttle ride back from Vos, but First Aid couldn’t bring you out of stasis. Your processor was too busy trying to reintegrate some of those lost memories we brought up.” Rodimus reached for him without thinking and Nightlight took his hands, cradling them in his own and squeezing lightly as he smiled. “There’s still some physical damage that First Aid should be able to look at now, but I managed to fix the neural pathways your memory core had written over. All the memories are still there, you just couldn’t reach them without a little help.”

“I was sitting in the Ark,” Rodimus said slowly, thinking back through the fuzz of stasis. “I was sitting by Optimus’ chair and you- you came and found me. How did - I _felt_ you pick me up, that shouldn’t be real.”

“Yes, well, not everyone has a Sigma power that lets them blow things up.” Nightlight’s shoulders hunched slightly, but he kept his tone light as Rodimus winced. “I can - follow along, if you like, when people are dreaming and help them think through the symbolism there. Sometimes fix things that don’t have a physical component to them. It’s where my name comes from, though it took me a little while to work that out.”

Rodimus blinked up at him, absently scrolling through the alerts and medical updates until he finally came to the end of them - fewer than he’d expected, thankfully, and it didn’t hurt when he testingly arched his back a little and rocked his hips. “So - wait, do you mean you’re a therapist? Like a counsellor? Like a _trained_ one?”

Surprised, Nightlight let out a burst of laughter. “Yes, actually, though I never managed to persuade anyone to sign off on my credentials. It was bad enough when Starscream-”

He hesitated, and Rodimus finished for him. “When Starscream went to the Academy?”

“Yes,” Nightlight near-whispered back before rallying. “We weren’t really expected to want an education outside of Vos, or outside of what was currently appropriate in the eirie, so I suppose that’s something we had in common. ...Skyfire seems nice.”

“Yeah. yeah, he is.” Rodimus was quiet for a moment, thinking, then gathered up his courage and held a little tighter to Nightlight’s hands. “So… You said, before, that I’d have to deal with the bad parts eventually. Would- Could you help? Please?”

It was the best possible thing he could have said, and Nightlight smiled. “Of course, sweetest. I always would.”

*

“Where did you take me this time? _Hey!”_

Starscream’s tank thudded into soft silica and metal-dust, listed to one side and came to rest there. He couldn’t see out of the sides, but he could hear the eerie whistle of wind and the drumroll of sand being blown against the side of the tank. The wind sounded odd - almost like there were no buildings or other structures around to channel or block it, but where on Cybertron was so featureless?

“Prowl!” he barked. “I asked a question! _Where did you take me?_ ”

Prowl’s grim smile was clearly audible in his reply. “The Winglord requested you be barred from Vos in general and his presence specifically. Welcome to Praxus.”

 _”Pr-_ ” Starscream hammered against the side of the tank, full-color graphic images of what Praxus looked like now flooding his awareness. Or rather, the empty crater where Praxus used to be, silent and empty as the sky overhead, scoured clean of all life in one bright burst of heat.

He’d thought it beautiful, back then.

“You can’t leave me here!” he howled, charging the side of his prison again and again as Prowl’s golden presence faded.

*

Sunset House hadn’t seen so many wings since the beginning of the war, and the Stars were as fascinated by them as the colony-Vosians were by the Stars. Polaris kept circling around to chatter with the colony’s performance artists, and Sirius had disappeared into one of the private rooms with a fully-repaired and enthusiastic Shimmersea. In the middle of it all, Rodimus lounged next to Nightlight, optics glowing with contentment and the warmth of Jazz’s best goodies in his tank.

“Tauri!” he called when he spotted a flash of vivid red. “Come meet my carrier.”

“Meet the what the whonow?” Tauri called back, impish grin flashing in the comfortably low light, but he ambled over with his hips swaying and wings flirting with everyone he passed, propping himself against the back of the long, low sofa Rodimus and Nightlight were cuddling on. “Got to say, Roddy, if you wanted to do something nice for me, you totally nailed it. Hey, gorgeous.”

Nightlight’s optics widened, his field flushing with static, and he almost looked around to see who the shuttle was talking to. It probably would have been unkind to laugh, and Rodimus just-barely managed to clamp down on a giggle at his expression. “Nightlight, this is my friend Centauri. He’s kind of an aft. Tauri, this is my carrier, Nightlight. They just got back to Cybertron.”

“Hello,” Nightlight managed, giving Tauri a smile that wasn’t too awkward - a brief flicker of gratitude made it through the carrier bond and made Rodimus smile. It was getting easier to pick up things they tried to send each other, slowly but surely, and First Aid had been fascinated. Tauri, on the other hand, was straightening against the sofa until it creaked, optic ridges rising high enough to meet his helm. “Wait, you were serious about the carrier thing? ...huh.”

The look he gave Nightlight was faintly suspicious this time around, and Rodimus’ spark ached. 

“We got separated when Vos was hit,” he said simply, and leaned a little more against Nightlight’s shoulder. Tauri’s expression eased a little at that, and Rodimus wondered briefly at it, but then Tauri had arched around the end of the sofa and dropped himself into an artless sprawl at Nightlight’s side. 

“Good to have you back, then,” he said, and if it was a little awkward Nightlight only seemed relieved.

“It’s good to be back,” he said with a smile at Rodimus. Then his optics brightened again in surprise, sitting up a little and wings quivering. “Bitlet, is that another Vosian over there?”

Tauri glanced over as well, more casual by far. “Oh, yeah, that’s Lesti. He’s probably looking for Pol, they’re on to dance tonight.”

“I had no idea there were other Vosians here,” Nightlight murmured, almost to himself.

“A few, here and there,” Rodimus answered - wanting to steer the conversation away from Celesti, knowing what he knew about the Star’s history. Although Celesti was a Seeker model, he doubted the mech would consider himself a Vosian. “The vast majority are part of the Decepticon exile community, which are pretty well integrated with the rest of society nowadays.”

“You know, if they integrate any further, we’re just gonna have to call them ‘people’,” Tauri pointed out with a wry grin.

Rodimus snickered. “I think they’re exactly as integrated as they want to be. Blitzwing’s the only one who doesn’t charge me fifty percent over market value for offworld goods.” Nightlight looked positively alarmed, and Rodimus squeezed his hand. “There’s a lot of stuff we’re fixing between us, the Decepticons and the Autobots,” he explained. “But it’s hard, and it’s slow, and honestly I’m happy to let this one thing stay broken.”

“Speaking as a Neutral,” Tauri put in, “I’m pretty impressed by how chill the factionmechs are getting. Used to be we’d have to do a lot of defusing to keep a brawl from breaking out when there were both ‘Bots and ‘Cons in here. Now it’s all ‘hey, Auto-dork!’ ‘How’s it hangin’, Decepti-butt!’ and that’s it.”

“He exaggerates.” Rodimus grinned at Nightlight, rolling his optics fondly.

“Not much.”

“Well, l think it’s wonderful,” Nightlight declared. “You should be very proud of yourself, Rodimus.”

“Hey, I didn’t do it! I just, uh, egged it on a little bit.”

“You what…?” Nightlight looked briefly mystified. “Well, I’m still going to be proud of you. Carrier’s prerogative.”

Rodimus found himself actually _wiggling_ in his seat a bit like a youngling, which of course Tauri had to tease him about.

*

Nightlight was thoughtful on the way home. He stayed close to Rodimus, joining in with the occasional gust of laughter from his colonymates but he was distracted, his face turned up to the stars reflected in his optics.

“I was wondering,” he murmured when Rodimus asked, quietly, when the other Vosians had filed into the ambassadorial quarters. “I wonder if I could do it. I could make Vos a home for us again. Countdown has been making drawings with Grapple when he’s free, and Caldera wants to try and reactivate the forges if she can…”

“You could try,” Rodimus managed, and gave Nightlight a slightly sickly smile when his carrier turned to him enquiringly, then had to look away again. “I mean, if you wanted to make a start, we’ve made good progress on Iacon. It’s probably about time to start looking at the other cities.”

“Maybe it would give the Seekers with the Decepticons a reason to change their minds,” Nightlight said softly, then took another, sharper look at Rodimus’ expression. “...Rodimus. _Dashlet._ Look at me? Please?”

“I still don’t know why you and Thunder keep calling me that,” Rodimus muttered, but reluctantly looked back at his carrier.

“Because that was your sparkling name, before you were old enough to tell me what name you chose for yourself. You were my Dash, and you are always going to be my bit, and I am always going to love you.” Nightlight leaned in, took Rodimus’ unresisting hands and held them against his cheek, optics fixed on Rodimus’ face. “I’m not saying this because I want to go away, or for whatever reason has you worried - I want to make a home for us, for my colony, for _you._ I want to be able to rebuild Vos so that nothing that happened to you and me will happen to anyone else. And so that - well - if you ever get tired of being Prime, you can come to Vos and just be my little one. If you’d like to.”

Nightlight smiled at him, a little tremulous and a little hopeful, and all Rodimus could do was nod and press in close.

“Thank you,” he whispered, letting his optics dim. “Just - thank you.”

Nightlight pressed their helms together, humming softly. “You grew up without me,” he murmured. “And you’re brave and kind and I couldn’t be prouder of you, but I missed all the growing up, all the struggle and pain you had to go through to get where you are now.”

“Please don’t feel guilty about that,” Rodimus protested.

He couldn’t see Nightlight’s sad smile, but he could feel it. “I can’t help that, sweetspark,” the elder Vosian told him. “I really can’t. But whether I feel guilty or not, the fact remains that there’s so much I don’t know about you.”

“...there’s a lot I don’t know about you too. Or about your trinemates, your colony… I know there’s a lot I need to learn.”

“Then we’ll learn together,” Nightlight said. “We’ll build our relationship together.” He pulled back a bit so Rodimus could see his smile going a touch crooked, and that hurt how familiar it was. “I can’t not think of you as my bitlet, but you’ll tell me if I interfere or fuss too much, won’t you? It’s hard for me to process that my baby is an adult now, especially since I didn’t watch it happen.”

“I promise.” Rodimus smiled back, a bit uncertain. “If you promise to stop me if I start listening to Starscream again.”

Nightlight tapped him between his optics. “Enough of that, now. I know how persuasive Starscream could be. No more feeling guilty over that.”

“...I can’t help that, Carrier.”

Nightlight chuckled again, fitted his hand to Rodimus’ cheek. “Sometimes I think we’re too alike for words.”


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories regained, family rediscovered, and Starscream comes about as close to a happy ending as he ever will.

The next time Rodimus Prime visited the _Wandering Star_ Vosians in the Iacon ambassadorial complex, Thundersong was waiting for him by the door.

“Can we talk?” the golden flier rumbled; Skydance grinned and waved cheerily at Rodimus from a small table by the door, where the two had clearly been playing some kind of counter-and-cards game as they waited.

“...sure,” Rodimus agreed, still a little cautious around Thundersong even as he waved back at Skydance. “Here, or-?”

Thundersong shook his head, gesturing to one of the smaller single rooms near the main entryway. “This won’t take long. ‘Dance is going to let Nightlight know you’re here, don’t worry.”

 _I wasn’t worried,_ Rodimus wanted to protest; instead he followed Thundersong into the room, glancing around himself instinctively. There were thin sheets of metal and flimsies everywhere, a haphazard scattering of old, lovingly-tended hardlight styluses, and Thundersong stepped around a chair draped with a tangle that - when Rodimus squinted - looked almost like Kup’s wire knitting, without breaking stride. This must be the lead trine’s room, he supposed, and stealthily glanced around trying to see something of his carrier in the high tide detritus of art supplies. Thundersong, meanwhile, had perched on the edge of the berth - he gestured for Rodimus to take the room’s second chair (that didn’t have anything piled on it), and Rodimus sat slowly.

“I wanted to apologise,” Thundersong began, his deep voice jolting Rodimus out of his own private delight at seeing a pile of boxes from Jazz’s goodie shop on the tiny table. “But I don’t think either of us were doing anything wrong, just starting from the wrong set of assumptions.” He tilted his helm slightly, steady optics not missing Rodimus’ guilty squirm.

“I know it was dumb to listen to Starscream,” Rodimus began, then stopped short when Thundersong snorted.

“Ask anyone here and they’ll tell you their opinion of _him,_ ” he said dismissively. “He’s been trying to hoodwink people for long before you were sparked. Don’t worry about that. What I wanted to talk to you about was exactly what it means to be heir-presumptive.”

“...oh,” Rodimus said faintly, anxiety rising to choke his vents again. Of all the extra responsibilities he didn’t want to think about-!

“It’s not a set inheritance,” Thundersong inserted smoothly, just before Rodimus could really pick up steam with his panicking. “A Winglord can change their heir-presumptive ten times a day if they wanted, and in the bad old days sometimes they did. Night had a whole wing of siblings, cousins, all of them fighting between themselves to get named as one of the heirs-presumptive and then trying to keep it. It still wasn’t fixed when Vos fell. It’s only when someone is declared _heir_ by the Winglord that it’s a set line of inheritance.”

Rodimus blinked, processor whirling. “So why are you telling me this?”

Thundersong gave him a commiserating sort of look, one that had a hint of a smile hovering at the edges. “I’m telling you this because I’m only the heir-presumptive thanks to Night being a mess when we got onto the ship. It was bad enough asking him to be Winglord for us then - it would have been outright cruel to ask him to do it without help. The title just made me his second for the days when he couldn’t make himself get out of the berth without crying.”

“...oh.” Rodimus shifted guiltily from pede to pede. “The thing is - I _can’t_ be the Winglord’s heir. I’m already leading a kind of - interim government? - here in Iacon. How does that even interact?”

“I suspect that will be a make-it-up-as-we-go situation,” Thundersong answered, and Rodimus’s mouth flickered in a reluctant smile. “We don’t need to decide how it works right now. You’re not the heir, you’re _one_ heir-presumptive. That doesn’t necessarily imply a leadership role.”

“That does help,” Rodimus admitted. “You do have a role in running the colony though, right? What about Skydance?”

“Skydance and I are bondmates,” Thundersong answered, so matter-of-factly that Rodimus blinked. “Nightlight offered him heir-presumptive status as well, but he refused. He mostly acts as emotional support for us both, according to need.”

“Oh.” Rodimus puzzled that out in his helm. “So - you two and Nightlight aren’t-?”

“Not romantically involved, no,” Thundersong answered, and Rodimus gave him a grateful smile. “We’re what used to be called a stable trine: two supporting one.”

“...that sounds nice.” Rodimus smiled up at Thundersong, a bit apologetic still. “There’s still a lot I need to learn, I guess.”

“I’m told I’m a fair teacher.” Thundersong settled his wings. “In Old Vos ‘heir-presumptive’ was - something like a challenge. Your rank - your right to try for the Winglord’s title - was acknowledged, but you were asked to prove your worthiness over your peers.”

Thundersong fell into an expectant silence after that, and Rodimus remembered this wasn’t just a history lesson. “Um - but I don’t want to prove my worthiness. No leadership role, remember?”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” Thundersong leaned forward. “I won’t ask you for anything you’re not comfortable giving, Rodimus, but the fact is that you reflect on Nightlight now. No one in the colony would question Nightlight’s right to _his_ title based on your actions, but if and when other Vosians rejoin us as we rebuild Vos…”

“...they may not be as trustworthy,” Rodimus sighed. “I get it. Okay. What do I need to do?”

Thundersong’s gaze softened. “Again, we’ll make it up as we go. Some way for you to support the new Vos and the Winglord without weakening your own position here in Iacon.”

“Is that all?” Rodimus shrugged. “That’s easy enough. Slag, just put my name down for youngling-sitting duty. Gets me out of the office for a while.”

Thundersong’s optics acquired an… odd sort of glint. “Do you mean it?”

“Sure I do. They’re a great bunch of kids, and I want to introduce Danny to Nightlight and he’d probably like meeting them too - why?”

“Mostly because there’s a good few people who’d like some private time without their younglings underpede,” Thundersong said with a grin, and laughed at Rodimus’ expression. “Not all of them at once! But it would be nice to have some privacy for a change. Merri - Merriweather - he’s got three bitlets to look after alone. So has Rocket. They could do with a break even with everyone else pitching in, even now they’re older.”

Rodimus pursed his lips, considering it. “Well, in that case… What about a movie night?”

“A what?”

“A chance to watch some of Earth’s media, stories they tell each other and themselves. There’s some great animated stuff, maybe the artists might like to sit in sometime - either way, it’s a traditional Earthen way of getting kids to sit still for a few hours at a time and stay out of trouble.”

Thundersong grinned at him then, perhaps the first genuine smile from him since the mech had arrived. “Oh, _traditional._ Well, in that case…”

Rodimus laughed out loud.

*

Nightlight had chosen another of the small single rooms, leaving the larger suites in the rear of the ambassadorial quarters to those with younglings - Rodimus could see why the adult Vosians were finding privacy thin on the ground, given that some of them were sharing quarters with their younglings. They could all do with a little more room to stretch out, and if they could make resurrecting Vos a reality…

One step at a time. Right now, Rodimus was here to spend some time with his carrier, and maybe try to pull together the rest of his missing memories. First, though, as soon as he had finished talking to Thundersong, he left the pair’s room to find Nightlight waiting outside talking to Skydance - Nightlight lit up at the sight of him, and Rodimus didn’t try to slow his own beaming smile.

“Roddy!” Nightlight came over and swept him into a hug, one that Rodimus gladly returned. “Everything all right?”

Rodimus glanced back over his shoulder, catching Thundersong’s optic; the older Vosian gave him a nod and a faint, conspiratorial smile, and Rodimus grinned back in return. “Yeah, everything’s just fine.”

“Good.” Nightlight squidged him briefly before letting him go. “The younglings have been asking after you, you know. They’re having lessons now, but maybe later if you have time…?”

Rodimus grinned crookedly. “Well, I kind of volunteered myself as a sparkling-minder, so I’d probably better spend some time with them.”

“Did you really?” Nightlight laughed. “Thank you, sweetbit. That will be very helpful.” He took his youngling’s hand, led him to the sofa and sat down together with him.

“I don’t really know what to do,” Rodimus confessed shyly. “Not just the memories thing. Just - what do normal people _do_ when they visit their carriers?”

“I couldn’t tell you that,” Nightlight demurred. “I don’t want to be _normal people,_ I want to be _us._ ” He chuckled when his words elicited a smile from Rodimus. “...we could start by telling each other about our days?” he suggested.

And so they did. Nightlight talked about meeting with Grapple and Hoist, and breaking up a scuffle among some of the stronger trines of younglings, and his vague beginnings of plans for rebuilding Vos. Rodimus described meeting with Spike regarding ongoing diplomatic relationships with Earth, and managing the expectations of various Neutral factions, and redeploying security around Iacon in response to Kup’s recommendations. Nightlight got the impression that being Prime was very stressful indeed. But he was equipped with hugs and a sympathetic audial - and a few of Jazz’s goodies - and he soon had Rodimus far more relaxed, the youngling Prime’s helm in his lap, and Rodimus was blinking slowly as his body prepared for recharge.

“Should I be doing anything?” Rodimus asked quietly.

“Just relax,” Nightlight advised, stroking his bitlet’s temples. “Follow where your dreams lead. I’ll follow.”

Tension rippled through his frame. “My dreams aren’t - always very nice.”

“You’re not alone,” Nightlight assured him, and let Rodimus reach up and take his hand.

“...sing to me?” the Prime whispered.

“Of course,” Nightlight hummed. “Always.”

*

_So dark, always so dark, alien curving shapes looming up and up into the nothingness overhead, the nothingness he’d fallen through with no way out; Hot Rod stumbled through the blackness, half falling through Unicron’s internals, terrified and grasping for any kind of light-_

_Then a whisper of unfamiliar comfort brushed over his plating. Hot Rod turned, and strut-shaking relief rushed through him at the sight of his carrier stepping carefully over the glassy blue-black floor panels towards him, glowing softly with a light that warmed without blinding and turned the icy terrors of Unicron seamlessly into the comfort of the Ark’s orange panelling._

_“Carrier,” he breathed, then ran headlong into Nightlight’s welcoming arms. Safe, he was safe here, safe and home…_

_“Oh, sweetest, always. It’s all right now.”_

_Nightlight drew him over to the same big chair Hot Rod had been leaning against before, settling himself down on the floor to lean against it and drawing Hot Rod close at his side. “There,” he murmured softly, stroking Hot Rod’s helm as his little one burrowed into his plating. “Home now, dearspark. You’re safe and home now. Though I would love to know where this is.”_

_“It’s the Ark,” Hot Rod replied, confused for a moment - why wouldn’t Carrier know where this safe place was? - before dismissing it in the nature of dreams. “On Earth. It’s safe here.”_

_“Ah,” Carrier murmured, hugging him closer. “Of course. I’m sorry, sweetspark, I wasn’t thinking. ...now, would you like to work on some more of your puzzle?”_

_Hot Rod brightened, then laughed out loud as the glittering fragments whirled lightly about him. The pieces he’d put together last time were still in one piece, a bright mirror that didn’t show the comforting light that Carrier wore sometimes, but that was all right. The sheet of crystal pieces was bright enough on its own, reflecting Carrier’s smile and the memory of Carrier singing to him drifting from it as it circled by._

_“It’s not staying still this time,” he observed, snuggling into Carrier’s lap._

_“That piece is finished for now,” Carrier reminded him, and looked to the remaining rings of glinting pieces they hadn’t put together yet. “We have a lot more to do, dearspark, but that’s all right. We have time.”_

_Hot Rod looked again at the whirl of memory-shards, and was suddenly very grateful for that. There were so many shards, moving so quickly - putting them all together in their proper place would take a lot of work. He reached out, grasped a shard and pulled it to him._

__Bzz-zzzt. _“Ow,” he gasped, and let it go._

_“Are you all right?” Carrier asked, reaching to fuss over his hand._

_“Yeah.” Hot Rod let Carrier soothe the sting. “I guess that one wasn’t ready yet.” He pulled away - Carrier let him go, still worried but this was_ his _puzzle - and reached out for another shard, careful this time which one he chose._

_This one didn’t hurt, but holding it still made him feel uneasy. He kept it anyway, laid it down in front of Carrier’s pedes. Red plating shone from its mirrored surface, red plating and a mocking voice that made both Carrier and Hot Rod tense. “I don’t think I want to know what he’s saying,” Hot Rod admitted, leaning against Carrier’s knee._

_Carrier’s optics dimmed; he stroked Hot Rod’s helm, protective and sorrowful. “It… may not be pleasant,” he admitted. “I won’t lie to you about that. It’s up to you if you want to go on, or look for another part of your puzzle to work on.”_

_Hot Rod looked down at the shard again. The red shimmered at him, mocking, and Hot Rod narrowed his optics. “I’m going to put it together.”_

_“My brave little one,” Carrier murmured, and kissed his crest._

_*_

_It wasn’t hard to find the right pieces. The unkind voice was always there, sometimes louder and sometimes more distant, and Hot Rod picked out a fragment that had sharp, sharp red optics staring right back at him that made his insides turn over. Slowly, one piece at a time, he built a jagged-edged collection of mirrors that eventually slotted together one after the other._

“Tell me the name of the sire, or I’ll see if grounders bounce.”

“No-!”

_Hot Rod jerked back at that cry, sparkrending and terrified, and glanced up at his Carrier as Carrier clutched him tight._

_“That was you,” he whispered, and Carrier cycled his vents before he nodded._

_“I remember this,” Carrier said quietly, and Hot Rod reluctantly found his optics drawn to what the mirror revealed._

_*_

_Dash played on the floor of a bright room made of windows, the wind drifting in and out to say hello through pretty patterned screens that he couldn’t climb through or push out of his way - but that was okay, because his blocks were interesting and Carrier was singing in the next room and ooh, someone was moving one of the screens! He sat up, peering curiously - not afraid, not in the least; he’d only ever met friends and people who were kind to him in his short, happy life. The Person was a shiny-pretty red and white like Carrier, clever blue hands setting the screen down quietly as he jetted inside, and Dash crowed a welcome and held his arms up for a hug._

_“Hmpf. You’re a noisy thing,” Person muttered, and picked him up; not a hug, really, but Dash wiggled his pedes and laughed at being dangled about. “So, Gravitonne wasn’t just blowing smoke - he couldn’t even manage a_ glider.” __

_Dash wasn’t really sure what Person was talking about, but he squealed agreeably and reached for Person’s face - hello! Person pulled a face and he laughed again, and then Carrier came back in!_

_Carrier’s optics went a much paler blue when he saw Person holding Dash._

_“Let him go,” Carrier burst out, jerking towards them - Dash only had time for a questioning beep before Person swung him out and over the edge of the window. He wiggled his pedes, curious - was this like the times he would jump and Carrier would catch him? - but Carrier cried out and Person laughed and Carrier didn’t sound like he thought this was fun at all._

_“He’s your nibling, you wouldn’t-!”_

_“Don’t bet on it. All you have to do is tell me who sparked your little_ bundle of joy, _then I’ll be on my way.”_

_Dash wiggled, a whimper escaping him; Person’s hands were starting to hurt and Carrier sounded sad and he didn’t like this game anymore!_

_(Back in the Ark, Carrier squidged Hot Rod close. His vents were wide open, making him sound as upset as Hot Rod felt, but his nearness helped Hot Rod remember that this was just a memory, and he was safe.)_

_“What would you possibly want to know that for? I’m exiled, and Dash would never be in the pool of heirs-presumptive anyway.” Carrier’s words meant nothing to Dash, but the scared, desperate tone was easy to understand. He whimpered in earnest, clutching at Person’s arms - they were more thickly-armored than Carrier’s, with something long and thin and somehow frightening on the outside of them. “Just say I had a disgraceful affair with a grounder. That was good enough for Gravitonne.”_

_“Gravitonne is a fool!” Person snapped, and Dash went from whimpering to outright crying. “He thinks grounders have no power. I know better.” The red optics glared at Dash, and there was nothing but burning rage in them, as if he blamed Dash for all the awful things that had ever happened to him. “Now. Tell me the name of the sire, or I’ll see if grounders bounce.”_

_“No-!”_

_Dash’s voice joined Carrier’s, a rising shriek that rang off the windowsill. The Person - the_ Bad Person _laughed, like he was enjoying their fear - and then something bright and warm swooped into them both, snatching Dash out of Bad Person’s hands and bowling Bad Person right over._

_“Skydance!” Nightlight burst out._

_Skydance didn’t stop, turning expertly in the close quarters of Dash’s room to fly to Carrier. Dash didn’t stop sobbing until he was safely in Carrier’s arms, and Skydance turned to face the Bad Person, who was just picking himself up._

_“I think you should leave now,” Skydance said cheerfully. “And maybe not come back. Ever.”_

_Bad Person’s eyes narrowed in that same blame-you-for-everything way, and Dash whimpered and clutched at Carrier’s plating. “You’re going to regret this,” Bad Person informed Skydance._

_Skydance made a face at him. “Do your worst. I’ve got nothing to lose.”_

_“I’m sure I’ll find something.” Bad Person swanned towards the window. “Take care of your little groundkisser, Nightlight. Do let us know when he tells you his name.”_

_Carrier turned from him, putting his wing between him and Dash. “Just - just get out, Starscream.”_

__Starscream. _That’s right. His name was Starscream._

_*_

_Hot Rod had clung tightly to his Carrier after that first dreadful memory. Carrier hadn’t spoken, just held on tight in turn, his vents roaring soft and hot over Hot Rod’s plating. There were more of the painful, worrying pieces spinning slowly in the ring of pieces circling them and Hot Rod eyed them warily, optics and the tip of his nose peeking out over Carrier’s arm._

_“You don’t have to,” Carrier reminded him, his voice just a little unsteady. “You’ve been so brave already, sweetbit, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”_

_He didn’t want to, not really, but Hot Rod thought that maybe he needed to. That if he’d known this before..._

_“It’s okay,” he reassured his Carrier, and hugged him back. “I can do it.”_

_Carrier chuckled, fuzzy-sounding and sad. “I know you can, sweetest.”_

_*_

_It was harder this time. More of the pieces he picked up buzzed and hurt his hands; Carrier cradled them in his and kissed Hot Rod’s fingertips and told him again that he didn’t have to, but Hot Rod was stubborn. The mirrors with Carrier and Starscream had fitted together seamlessly, twisted and jagged edges connected by the barest bridge of memory, and Hot Rod struggled to make another picture until he realised the pieces he was collecting fitted into the edges of Carrier’s and Starscream’s memories, connecting and growing from them into something bigger than the sum of its parts. Muffled explosions and the sounds of tearing metal flickered in and out of hearing as he slotted the fragments into place, and by the time he had finished there were a lot less pieces making up the rings._

_Carrier hugged him gently, his optics pale and worried, and Hot Rod gave him a brave smile._

_*_

_Dash couldn’t sit still. Carrier had gone outside without him_ again _and Safeguard kept looking out of the windows when there was nothing to see; his blocks were packed away and Carrier had taken them somewhere else with his pretty blanket and a lot of his toys, and he couldn’t go in case the nasty people that Carrier called_ heirs _tried to take him away. Safeguard was all right, though, Carrier said so and ei would play with him when ei wasn’t having to pay attention to boring things._

 _A low, humming drone started nagging at his audials and Dash scrunched his face up. He pushed himself up and ambled over to Safeguard, leaning against the column between two of the windows so ei could look out; Dash scrambled up onto one of the bench seats under the short window and pressed his nose to the screen. “Whassat noise?” he asked, and Safeguard frowned. Before ei could reply, there was a muffled_ boom _and the distant Solus Gate grew a blossom of flame._

_“Holy slag,” Safeguard hissed, then winced. “You didn’t hear me say that, bit.”_

_“Nuh-uh.”_

_Safeguard patted his back where his winglets attached - he was self-conscious about them sometimes, because they_ weren’t _wings and he was old enough now to start to realize that the world was made for winged-people, but Carrier fussed over them and called them adorable, so he didn’t hate them - and nudged him away from the window. “Go play,” ei said. “I have to pay attention to some boring stuff now.”_

_“But whassat?” Dash protested, pointing at the flames pouring out of Solus Gate, but ei wasn’t paying attention, heading for the comm console and talking briskly to the person on the other end._

_Dash didn’t even pretend to play. He watched the windows - from a distance after Safeguard told him sharply that being too close to them wasn’t safe right now - as more and more fire bloomed over the Gate until it seemed more flame than structure. The fire then spread to other spires, the sharp thunder-noises grew louder and he saw people leaping from their windows and flying away in formation or in big shuttles, boiling off the towers in big black clouds. Something fast and sleek sliced through the biggest cloud of fliers, and the ones closest to it fell as helplessly as rain._

_He fled the window, latched onto Safeguard’s leg. Safeguard gathered him up, engine humming loudly under eir plating. “The commlines just went down,” ei said, eir voice struggling for calm. “I have to get you someplace safe.”_

_“But - Carrier,” Dash protested in a whimper._

_“Carrier’s going to be okay,” Safeguard told him. “He’s got his trine with him. Right now my responsibility is you. Can you ride in my cockpit like a big youngling?”_

_There was nothing to do but nod, and allow Safeguard to fold up around him. Dash still gazed out the window for any glimpse of his Carrier as Safeguard flew away from the tower as fast as ei could. “He’s going to come find us,” Dash asked, “right?”_

_There was a shadow, then a terrific, crunching impact and Safeguard lurched-_

-and Rodimus Prime jolted awake from the crash, helm ringing with the shock and the sounds of tearing metal echoing in his audials.

“Safeguard,” he mourned softly, then Nightlight’s arms wrapped around him and they both gave in to tears.

***

Skyfire settled himself on the dusty ground, tilting his helm back to watch the stars wheeling across the sky. After long, long moments of silence that he could either class as _peaceful_ or _extremely tense_ , a suspicious voice broke the hush. “Why are you here, Skyfire?”

An excellent question, really, when Skyfire wasn’t entirely sure himself. Honesty was always a policy that had variable results, especially in this case, but it was one he had clung to all his life; the big shuttle shrugged slightly, leaning back as he catalogued the stars overhead out of long-held habit. “I’m not sure I have a good answer for you. But I still came.”

“Hrmpf.” Another silence, sulky this time, and once again Skyfire waited for the other to break it himself. “All right, fine. Are you here to get me out, or to try to make me feel guilty?”

“I shouldn’t have to try,” Skyfire said sharply, then sighed and let his wings droop without trying to hide it. “But then I suppose you never really had much chance to learn better. I’m amazed Nightlight is as stable as he is.”

The noise Starscream made then echoed across the empty wasteland where Praxus once stood, and Skyfire winced. “You might not like hearing it, but it’s the truth. Your family was terrifying.”

“Terrifying?” Starscream demanded. “You didn’t seem terrified. I thought you enjoyed the attention they lavished on you.”

Skyfire smothered a laugh. “Are you serious? I was ready to break up with you by the time they were through with me. It was a relief to flee to deep space after.” Starscream said nothing, but the hurt he didn’t voice was loud as anything. “More than that, _you_ scared me when you were around your family. You had a bit of a mean streak at the Academy, but when you were with your family it grew so much it was like it eclipsed the rest of you.” He sighed, vents raising more of Praxus’s dust. “I had hope - when we met again - that joining the Decepticons had gotten you away from that, but it hadn’t. It just traded your horrible progenitor for your horrible commander, and your mean streak had consumed you.”

“If I had just gotten a chance to _explain-_ ” Starscream protested.

“...you would have delayed my leaving,” Skyfire told him. “Maybe even convinced me not to join the Autobots. But you wouldn’t have prevented me. You can’t _control_ people like that, Starscream. You always try to and that is why you fail.”

“Oh, go on then,” Starscream snapped. “Tell me everything that’s wrong with me. Tell me why your precious Autobots are so perfect. I’m sure you think you’re helping rehabilitate me, or some such nonsense.”

Skyfire sighed, leaned back on his hands. “No,” he murmured. “I don’t think there’s any rehabilitating you, Starscream. You are who you’ve chosen to be - I can’t control that, any more than you could control me.” The stars shimmered above him, silent and steady and utterly uncaring. “Even if I could - what then? There’s no place left for you now.”

“That’s why you came,” Starscream accused, but there was no heat to it. “You pity me.”

“Perhaps I do,” Skyfire admitted. “Mostly, I forgive you.”

The harsh sound of an indrawn vent was his only reply, frameless as Starscream was, but the reluctantly anticipated yell of indignation or protest or rage never came. Skyfire sat in silence, streaked with the dust of a long-destroyed city, and for once Starscream let the peace between them - such as it was - stand without comment.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rebuilt Vos is host to some... interesting visitors.

When Iacon had reached the point of being able to shelter and support its inhabitants with both space and resources to spare, Nightlight had taken his people and those who were interested in reclaiming Vos and set out to start work. His first priority was repairing the great city-state highway that once ran from Iacon out towards the opposite pole of Cybertron; he insisted that Vos and Iacon be linked physically as well as symbolically, as well as to make it easier for the workforce to come and go. (And perhaps to make it easier for the Prime to visit.) While the _Wandering Star_ fliers weren’t needed in that regard outside of working as particularly stubborn unskilled labourers, they all wanted to at least try to take part. Resonance and Countdown had spent time working with Grapple - both had had experience working as surveyors, while Countdown had primarily been an architect and was on hand to make sure that the reams of plans would work for fliers, and that the Vosian architectural style would evolve instead of vanishing under an Iaconian patchwork. Grapple was desperately intrigued, while Nightlight was mostly relieved that he would have the chance to put his pede down and make sure their city would still support grounders without antigravs as well as fliers.

The roadworks went on apace, rapidly reaching Bridgeway, the entry point for Vos for those who couldn’t fly; the bridges had been demolished after the attack on Praxus, at the height of the Winglord’s eirie’s isolationist fervour, and an old horror was finally put to rest in Nightlight’s spark as work began to rebuild them - broader, stronger and more beautiful. Then the hard work began.

Rebuilding something that had been completely destroyed was one thing. The Vosians could sketch out how the bridges had once looked, and the architects could make up models and work out the calculations and weight distribution and how it would be put together, and the builders would move in for the practical applications of just how to get it done. When it came to restoring shattered, half-destroyed and unstable spires, that was something else entirely.

Most of them had to be demolished. That was the easiest part of the whole process, despite how it broke Nightlight’s spark to see them fall. Highcrest and Bridgeway were found to be sound enough to stand with some work, but the new Vosians decided not to repair Highcrest yet beyond reinforcing its foundations so as to be sure it wouldn’t fall. Bridgeway would be the first tower to be rebuilt, and home to all Vosians. At least for now.

Rodimus Prime and Nightlight performed the first weld on Bridgeway together: a highly visible symbol of Iacon and Vos’s relationship, one that Rodimus couldn’t stop cracking bad puns about the rest of the cycle.

Bridgeway was both symbol and home to the Vosians. Over time Nightlight watched it grow stronger, brighter, streaming pennants and tapestries from every turret and pinnacle. Its population grew, grounders and fliers sharing space and work. Caldera opened a new blacksmith’s tower with three youngling apprentices, Merriweather began the work to neutralise the acid rain still plaguing Cybertron as the first Rainmaker of New Vos, and Nightlight was so happy he _danced._

Then one day, a youngling from Iacon requested an audience with the Winglord. Nightlight was very confused - and rather suspicious of the grin Thundersong wasn’t quite successful in hiding - but he set aside his work and went out to meet his guest.

The youngling had his head together with Skydance, exclaiming over a datapad; he looked up when Nightlight entered, and Nightlight almost fell in shock. He’d seen him before, but only during those times when he’d walked in Rodimus Prime’s dreams. He’d never expected to see this youngling in person.

Hot Rod smiled shyly as he stood to greet the Winglord. “Hi, Carrier.”

“Oh,” Nightlight breathed. “Oh, look at you!” He flew to his youngling and swept him up to cuddle him tight. “You’re _so adorable!”_ he exclaimed, and Hot Rod laughed.

“I’m not adorable, I’m a tough Autobot warrior!” he protested as he hugged his Carrier back.

“You’re an _adorable_ Autobot warrior,” Nightlight beamed, then because he honestly couldn’t resist, “yes you are, yes you _are…!”_

“Carrieeeer!”

Chuckling, Nightlight carried Hot Rod back into his office. “If you promise to put up with me fussing over you, I’ll give you some of the goodies Merriweather made.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Hot Rod grinned, and snuggled contentedly into his Carrier’s arms.

Explanations took longer than Nightlight had expected, if only because it took Hot Rod two repetitions of just how his reversion to his proper frame had come about for it to sink in - by the time his youngling had told him about the Hate Plague and Optimus Prime’s resurrection, Nightlight had wrapped around him protectively in utter horror.

“My sweetbit,” he murmured, cuddling Hot Rod close in his lap. “We didn’t hear a thing, we had no idea…”

“Good,” Hot Rod said firmly. “That was the plan, more or less. We tried to contain it for as long as we could, and that gave everyone else time to find a way to cure it.”

“So what does this mean for you now? I’m sure your Optimus is a good Prime, but I’ve never met him, and don’t try to argue the fact that _everyone_ respects you and your judgement, sweetest. All the progress we’ve made has been with you in charge.”

“Not when you’re calling me sweetest,” Hot Rod grumbled, but he wrapped his arms around his carrier’s middle and squeezed. “We haven’t worked that out yet. I don’t know, maybe we’ll have a joint Primacy or something; Magnus is getting Optimus up to date on what’s been going on, but I - I wanted to show you in person.”

Nightlight smiled, glowing, and pressed a kiss to his youngling’s helm. 

*

Hot Rod had made arrangements to stay in Vos for three days, and Nightlight was delighted. It may well have been to give himself a chance to cope with his once-leader and Prime coming back from the dead - and Nightlight tried not to think too hard on that, given just how many people had been lost with no hope of resurrection; his own little colony had had far too many orphans and one- or two-of-trine-remaining. He immediately set Thundersong in charge - Thunder gave him a tolerant look, then promptly went off to deal with the latest round of rebuilding arguments; he’d seen this coming - and spent his days indulging in spending time with and thoroughly spoiling his youngling. Hot Rod basked in the attention.

Unfortunately, no-one thought to pass the news on to Galvatron.

Nightlight and Hot Rod were cuddled up on one of the sofas the Vosians had puzzled into being, looking through Nightlight’s collection of sparkling pictures and clips of his own memory files that he’d downloaded for Hot Rod to see - it was almost time for Hot Rod to head back to Iacon, and they were both rather clingy with each other as a result. That meant when Thundersong pinged him with more urgent panic in his voice than the steady flier had shown since their original flight from Vos, Nightlight was the first one to dive for Bridgeway’s bailey. Hot Rod was only a half-step behind, his newly-activated antigravs allowing him to keep up with his carrier effortlessly. “I suppose I can’t ask you to stay inside where it’s safe,” Nightlight called back as he flew.

“Not on your life!” Hot Rod called back. “I’m an heir-presumptive, remember? If Vos needs me I’m not just gonna sit on my can!”

They landed on the bailey, Thundersong and Skydance at Nightlight’s back, and Nightlight didn’t try to keep Hot Rod from standing in front of him. “You’re a credit to your family,” he murmured, and scanned the sky for the threat. “What _is_ that?”

He saw Hot Rod make scanner-contact with the trio of unknowns in Vos airspace, and rather than tense up he inexplicably relaxed. “...oh. Um,” he muttered sheepishly. “I think you can probably give the all-clear. They’re here for me.”

“Wh- I will do no such thing!” Nightlight put a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder, ready to defend his baby, as the trio stooped in to land. Nightlight couldn’t help but jump as their landing shook the ground, wings mantling as the leader straightened from his crouch, red optics and prominent Decepticon sigil flashing. He was the biggest, most intimidating and most _purple_ being Nightlight had ever seen in his life, and he was halfway to radioing the city’s defenders to stand ready when Hot Rod stopped him with a shout.

“Galvatron!” he cried, and kicked off the ground to fling himself into the stranger’s arms.

“Galvatron… the leader of the Decepticons?” Skydance remembered. “Huh. So that’s him.”

“You!” Galvatron roared as he caught Hot Rod up close. “You left without a word!”

“And it apparently took you three days to notice,” Hot Rod pointed out dryly, and laughed at the consternated expression Galvatron gave him. “I _did_ miss you, though,” he added, and that seemed enough to mollify the Decepticon - enough to make Nightlight squeak when Galvatron pulled Hot Rod into a firm kiss.

Hot Rod was bright-opticked and breathless when it ended, and when Galvatron let him stand on his own pedes again he wobbled a bit. “Hi Cyclonus,” he grinned, “hi Scourge,” and Nightlight blinked again. Galvatron was such a bright presence that he’d all but eclipsed his two followers - one obviously a jet of some description, though not Vosian; the other possessed of broad, curved wings that made Nightlight think of shuttles, though he wasn’t quite big enough to be a shuttle.

The jet reached out to grasp Hot Rod’s shoulder, as possessive as Galvatron in his own way. “You finally got some antigravs,” he smiled. “They suit you.”

Hot Rod giggled. “Want to race later?”

“...you are _daft,_ Autobot.”

“Yeah, say that after I win.”

Galvatron directed a less-than-amused look at both of them. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, Prime.”

Hot Rod winced a little at the title. “Vos is kind of my second home. On that note, there’s someone you should meet.” He gripped Galvatron’s hand, and the spectacle of small, slender Hot Rod trying to _tow_ the massive warbuild amused Galvatron enough that he allowed himself to be led. “Nightlight, these are Galvatron, Cyclonus and Scourge, the Decepticon command trine,” Hot Rod announced, and Nightlight could think of nothing to do but nod to them. “And this is the Winglord of New Vos, and my carrier - Nightlight. Um - he’s really nice, so please try not to scare him too much.”

Trying to return Galvatron’s intense gaze, Nightlight reflected, _It worries me that he feels the need to say that._ Still…

When Hot Rod - Rodimus Prime at the time - had been able, they had spent hours together just talking. Walking in someone’s dreams doesn’t make one a mind reader, or able to scan a person’s memories for the lifetime that they had missed, and Nightlight had treasured his youngling’s trust as it grew and strengthened between them. It also helped the young Prime to have someone he could talk to about his personal relationships who had no history with any of the mechs involved. What Nightlight had heard of the new Decepticon command...well, he hadn’t expected them to be so _big,_ but after Roddy had spoken of mind control and torture and enslavement by the massive being whose head still orbited the planet, he couldn’t help but see dangerous, overpowered, _very scary_ younglings instead of dangerous, overpowered and very scary fullframes, and to his mind that made all the difference. It didn’t negate all the things they had done, but then he wasn’t at all comfortable with some of the things the Autobots had done during the war either.

And if they made Hot Rod happy, well…a diamond formation was just as strong as a trine.

Nightlight cycled his vents, drew on all his hard-won courage and stepped toward the hulking warframes with his chin up.

“Welcome to Vos, commander,” he said, and a quiet part of himself was pleased when his voice didn’t shake. He felt as light and small as a youngling before the Winglords again, and that was not a feeling he’d ever wanted to revisit - but his own youngling was smiling crookedly and that gave him courage he had never possessed back then. Here went - everything. “Hot Rod has told me all about your trine, and your exploits. It’s good to put faces to the names.”

Galvatron rumbled, looking faintly amused, and that sparked a flicker of defiance that set light to Nightlight’s bravery. “I understand you are a warlord. I know you - all three of you - are powerful in your own right, but my youngling is fond of you. More than fond. And that said, if you ever break a single promise to him, if you ever make him cry, if anything in your relationship is less than consensual and hurts him, _I will know_ and you will _not_ like the results.” He met the suddenly narrowed scarlet optics bravely, his fuel pump hammering hard enough to make his wings tremble if he hadn’t locked them still, then cycled his intakes and held out a hand. “Now. Do you have time to come in for something to fuel up on? I’d like the chance to get to know all three of you a little, while you’re here.”

_”Nightliiiight!”_ Hot Rod covered his face in his hands in utter mortification. “That’s not necessary!” He peeked suspiciously out of his fingers when Galvatron started to laugh.

“How many is that now, Cyclonus?” he demanded.

“Nine, my lord,” Cyclonus answered blandly, “if you count the humans.”

“...I’m gonna regret asking,” Hot Rod said, his voice muffled, “but - nine what?”

“Nine people,” Cyclonus answered, “who have personally made threats against Lord Galvatron should he be found guilty of ill-treating you.”

“Oh, Primus.”

Still laughing, Galvatron wrapped an arm over his shoulders. “You are well-liked,” he pointed out, “and those who follow you certainly don’t lack for courage!”

“I _can_ take care of myself,” Hot Rod muttered. “I swear I can.”

“That’s not the point,” Nightlight protested. “Come on, I’ve already radioed up to our suite for refreshments. Hot Rod, sweetest, can you escort them? I need to talk to my trine about something - and probably convince the guardsmechs to take a break and calm down,” he added. He’d meant it as mild reproof of how Galvatron and his trinemates had stormed the city, but Galvatron only smirked.

With a last backward glance, optics shining with mingled embarrassment and gratitude, Hot Rod led Galvatron up the walkway leading inside the spire. Once the door shut behind the odd-winged Scourge, Nightlight finally did what he’d been struggling not to do since he first addressed Galvatron directly, and collapsed in his trine’s arms.

“Whoa,” Skydance gasped, though of course he’d been anticipating this. “Gotta say, that took some bearings, Night. You okay?”

“I’ll let you know when I find my knees again,” Nightlight huffed. “That - that was far too intense.”

“It would seem,” Thundersong observed, shrugging Nightlight’s arm over his shoulders, “that your sparkling has a _type.”_

Despite his shaking legs, the gearbugs in his tanks and the way his fuel pump still refused to slow, Nightlight hugged them both close and burst out laughing.


End file.
